


Wolf By The Ears

by Evil Overwench (Thornwitch)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Blacharachnia ships MOP, Discrimination, M/M, Megatron is a manipulative SOB, Optimus is just adorable, Politics, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sentient Ship, Slavery programming, Slow Build, Spark-bonds, Sparks, Urban spelunking, gratuitous allusions to US history, he's down but not out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 02:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 44,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4461818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thornwitch/pseuds/Evil%20Overwench
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the end of Transformers Animated.</p><p>Optimus is a war hero, and Megatron is a dangerous menace to the Great Autobot Machine. The Council discovers that the captured Decepticon leader has ancient, dormant slave programing. Optimus is chosen as his master, for reasons political and practical. He is... less than pleased with this turn of events.</p><p>Or, Megatron finds himself once again a slave to an Autobot. He plans to come out on top and take terrible vengeance as soon as possible... But why is this mech being so bizarrely kind to him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bad News

**Author's Note:**

> _Disclaimer: Transformers is the property of Hasbro. No money is being made on this, and I am merely writing it for shits and giggles. ___
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> _This story was started long, long ago, and originally posted on the TF Kink Meme from Livejournal. Despite that, I’d say it’s pretty tame as fanfic goes. Nevertheless, within lies adult themes, including slavery, armed rebellion, realpolitik and non-consensual interfacing. Beware._
> 
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> _I haven’t been doing very well with writing for a while now, but my early chapters have been Betaed by the wonderful Darth Krande, and I decided to clean them up and post them here on AO3, with a sincere hope that doing so will help me get back in the grove and finish this story, because all those people who commented and liked it over on fanfiction.net really do deserve some resolution._
> 
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> _There will also be spoilers for the end of Transformers Animated._

 

*****

Optimus Prime waited nervously outside of his commander's office. Ultra Magnus had summoned him on an urgent matter, and he had absolutely no idea what it could be. He sighed, a gusty ex-vent of warm air. It was very strange to be not only back on Cybertron, but also free of the stigmas that had followed him for so long.

Now, Optimus Prime was no longer the failure, the Academy dropout, or the distant second to the rising star that was Sentinel. Instead he was the mech who had brought down Megatron in a knock-down drag-out aerial battle and returned Omega Supreme, the AllSpark, and the Magnus Hammer to his home world.

On top of that, someone had gotten hold of the Sumdac security drones' footage of the final battle with Megatron and his Omega Supreme clones. Pretty much all of Cybertron had now seen a variety of video montages depicting Optimus's aerial duel with the Decepticon leader.

The level of celebrity was actually kind of disconcerting to Optimus. Sure, he and his team had enjoyed the hero's treatment they had received from the human residents of Detroit, but it was a far different experience when they were being mobbed by fellow Cybertronians instead of by small, fragile organics who tended to keep a reasonable physical distance.

Perhaps he shouldn't have turned down the Magnus's offer of bodyguards. It had seemed ridiculous at the time. After all, he had handily survived his time on Earth with the entire Decepticon command team, not to mention a colorful variety of Terran supervillains and the occasional parasitic alien menace.

Optimus had been reinstated as a member of the Elite Guard only a few cycles ago, and had spent most of the time before and since in a series of debriefings. Funny how now the council and the military were more than willing to listen to every detail of his team's encounters with the Decepticons on Earth. It would have been nice to have had the support back when they had been playing patty-cake with Blitzwing, Lugnut and the others. They had stopped Megatron’s forces from invading Cybertron or destroying the humans’ city, and that was the important thing.

Though if they hadn’t had to go it alone, Prowl might not have died.

This summons to meet with the Magnus was the first official communication from the recovering bot that he had received, but Ultra's assistant Cliffjumper had been in regular contact. Nice mech, but kind of intense. The reasons for the meeting had sounded rather mysterious, but perhaps it had to do with the choice of a successor for Ultra Magnus. Sentinel had made such a public botch of the job that he was no longer under consideration, and Optimus planned to suggest Jazz as a candidate for Prime, so he would be in the running.

*****

The guards at Ultra Magnus's door both saluted crisply as the young Prime approached. He returned the gesture with a smile at the two bots. One of Sentinel's problems had always been that he treated his underlings with disdain. Optimus knew better than that. These mecha might have his back in a fight someday, and trust and mutual respect made all the difference in a serious situation. Besides which, it was only right for bots in positions of authority to treat others well.

The double doors, which were embossed with the Elite Guard symbol, opened smoothly into recessed walls as he approached. Optimus sternly commanded his tanks to stop their nervous fluttering. After all, this was surely just a routine semi-formal discussion with the recovering Magnus. Right?

Uh, perhaps not so routine. Instead of Ultra Magnus and perhaps a guard or two, it appeared that half the council was jammed into the normally spacious-seeming sitting room.

Optimus stopped dead in surprise, then belatedly remembered to salute. He dropped into standard Elite Guard Parade Rest. What could this be about? He was no fool. The planet needed a public figure to put its faith in now that Ultra Magnus was out of commission and Sentinel had proven to even the most oblivious bot that he wasn't to be trusted with power. He was the most obvious choice, at least in the short run. Nobody provided a rallying point like a war hero, particularly one with a compelling narrative.

Never mind that he had basically no political experience. Alpha Trion had taken him aside several times for a talking-to. The ancient mech had explained to a doubtful Optimus that lack of political savvy could be balanced out by actual leadership experience, which the young Prime had in spades. Besides which, anything was better than the type of power-grab that Sentinel had attempted only a short time ago.

Optimus had reluctantly concurred. Ratchet's descriptions of the situation on Cybertron under Sentinel was enough to convince him. He trusted the crusty old medic's judgment, and Jazz corroborated his description of what a terrible commanding officer Sentinel was.

Optimus Prime had never been a mech prone to shirking responsibility, and he was not going to start now.

He squared his shoulders and tried to look like a leader.

Ultra Magnus was seated in a half-reclined medical berth, surrounded by discreet monitoring equipment. The Autobot Supreme Commander still looked drawn and tired from his ordeal.

"Optimus." Said that deep, resonant voice. "I suppose you're wondering why the Council is here in my sitting room, instead of their usual haunts."

The huge, regal frame of the Magnus seemed diminished by the crowded room and the medical machinery. Optimus wondered if it was the fact that he was still recovering from his wounds, or if it was in comparison to all the Decepticons (not to mention the Lugnut Supremes!) that he had faced lately. Ultra Magnus was very large by Autobot standards, but Megatron was much bigger, not to mention nastier.

Perhaps Optimus just wasn't as easily intimidated as he had once been.

"Sir?" He asked, maintaining his parade rest.

The Magnus sighed. He looked terribly tired and still unwell from his recent near-death. "Optimus Prime, you have more than proved yourself in the last few cycles. You and your team defeated Megatron and his closest lieutenants, recovered the Allspark and Omega Supreme, and bore the Magnus Hammer in battle. Both it and the Allspark have accepted you as a worthy leader, and the people of Cybertron love you."

He met Optimus's optics, his expression grave. "Now I am afraid that we must ask more of you. The Decepticon menace is still strong. We may have their leader in custody, but many of Megatron's generals are still at large, spread throughout the galaxy, awaiting word of his escape, or of his death, in which case another will rise to lead them. While he was missing, they were willing to bide their time, but now he is here, and they will do no such thing."

Optimus could feel his sense of foreboding growing as the Magnus spoke. He had a very bad feeling about what was coming.

The leader of the Autobots continued. "As long as Megatron is alive, he is not a martyr to their cause. His death does not provide a rallying point for the Decepticons, or for disaffected Autobots. Another leader cannot rise among them without seeming disloyal to him. Unfortunately, this is offset by the fact that he is a grave danger even when contained by our best guards and security measures. We had no sign that Longarm was a Decepticon spy, and there could easily be other deep-cover agents among us."

Xenon, one of the other council members, spoke. "However, we have a plan to ameliorate the danger presented by having Megatron in our custody. That, Optimus Prime, is where you come in."

 

*****

 

Optimus left the meeting in a daze. He needed a drink. No, he needed to talk to Ratchet. Who would probably provide him with a drink. Hopefully the old mech would have some advice, or know some way out of the Council's _insane_ plan. He was willing to be a figurehead for the sake of Cyberton (and Earth’s) future. He knew all about the Decepticon threat, and understood that organics were not one. He would fight, would die if necessary, to preserve his home world or the world that had adopted him and his team.

What the Council wanted though… that was just… wrong.

They had been concerned that Megatron would be able to escape the maximum security prison in which he was incarcerated, or worse, lead a rebellion from within. With that in mind, Autobot scientists had hacked the Decepticon leader's processors, much like he and Shockwave had once done to Arcee. They had uncovered an ancient, dormant program intrinsic to his build-type, a program that would bind him in servitude and obedience to a chosen bot who he would see as his master. That bot, they had explained, had to be Optimus. He had defeated Megatron in single combat, was an Autobot Prime, and could be trusted to thwart the Decepticon's attempts to escape and/or wreak havoc.

Supposedly, slave programming had once been common among warrior frame types, to control them and prevent them from running amok among the civilian population. It had been installed along with their core programming, to be activated if necessary. One of the scientists had hypothesized that it was a leftover from the long-ago Quintesson occupation of Cybertron, and that it had been a part of every member of their species once upon a very dark time in their history. Due to the incredible potential for abuse, it had ceased to be included in any new mech generations ago.

The slave programming would easily accept that Optimus was Megatron's master, they said. He had spared the other’s life when he should by all rights have taken it, and delivered him into captivity. Pit, he had personally put the stasis cuffs on his wrists. That made the Prime the logical choice as "master". He felt his tanks roil in disgust.

Megatron was fearsome. Megatron was ancient. Megatron was the leader of the Decepticons, a monster who fancied himself a freedom fighter, but preyed on the defenseless. He was not a slave. At least that was how it was supposed to be. Optimus didn't want a slave, didn't want anybot to be a slave, and certainly didn't want Megatron to be _his_ slave. It was wrong, and the would-be tyrant would be in his life, in his quarters, and follow him around as a symbol of Autobot power. He hated the idea. A lot.

He was supposed to report to the med bay of the Citadel tomorrow, to have the Decepticon's slave code fine-tuned to answer his spark. It was an abomination, to create a spark-link for such a purpose. He had never even shared sparks for pleasure. He didn't want his first experience to be something like this, and he definitely didn't want it to be with Megatron.

He found his feet too slow, and the minute he hit the street outside, he transformed and peeled rubber for Omega Supreme and the rest of his friends.

 

*****

 

Ratchet looked at the shaken young Prime, who had grown so much in the time he had known him. He had started as a wet-behind the audios academy washout who couldn't control a kindergarten, to a confident, well-respected leader who would have been right at home in command of a squad during the Great War, and a Magnus candidate as well.

He was so young, though. Throwing him into a situation where a mech like Megatron was supposed to be under his control was reckless.

And the young Prime was such a decent mech. Earth had been good for him, had opened his processor to the universe outside Cybertron and points of view different from those of the general Autobot populace. It was not so great a jump from seeing things from an organic's perspective, or a cyberninja's, to seeing things from an enemy's point of view. Especially given Optimus's feelings for that unfortunate femme who had become part organic. The Dinobots, even Wreck-Gar, they had helped the young Prime to realize that non-Autobots could still be people, even if they were more than a little strange.

Some of it was Prowl's influence, some was Sari and her father's. Some was just having the academy-standard stick up his aft jarred loose by life experience.

Ratchet sat his leader down, poured him a container of jet fuel, and let him talk. Now the young mech had wound down, and from the slight vagueness of his optics, the fuel was hitting his (undoubtedly empty) tanks hard. Good.

"Optimus" he said. "I very much understand why you don't want to do this, and I agree that it's pretty fragging far from Autobot ideals. But think on this; you aren't Magnus yet, and you can't stop the Council's plan. What you can do is either refuse a direct order, in which case they'd court-martial you, or you can do this and make the most of it."

The Prime stared at his friend. He had always known that Ratchet had a streak of ruthless practicality that came of being a wartime medic, but that really wasn't the advice he had been expecting.

"Ratchet? What do you mean, make the most of it?" He felt shaky inside, like his gyros had lost their sync. "I'll be spark-bonded to _Megatron_ , and he to me. They want me to have him around me all the time, to show off Autobot superiority."

The medic ex-vented softly. "It wouldn't be the kind of spark-link a bot would have with a bonded partner, Optimus. It's much less invasive, especially for you. You would have to consciously develop the bond to have more than a vague awareness of him. You would still be able to have a true spark-bond to a partner, when you find the right being. The slave programming is ancient, and it was originally developed for purposes like this- to control dangerous Warbuilds. It lets you command him, but it doesn't give him much access to you."

He smiled grimly.

"Of course, I don't blame you for not being thrilled about the prospect of having Megatron at your back cycle-in and cycle-out. It’s certainly going to make team reunions… interesting."

Optimus's mouth quirked in a bitter little smile.

"I'll have to inform the others that there's going to be a big addition to our little family. At least things won't be boring any time soon."


	2. Unity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay folks, away we go. Non-con with sparks in this chapter, but I doubt most readers will find it particularly trigger-y. It's mostly political, after all.

Optimus nodded to the guard-bots at the entrance to the Stockades. He wondered if they knew why he was here. The answer to that was probably yes, given that he was supposed to leave here with a slave-collared Megatron in a few cycles. The code engineers were supposed to verify that Megatron's programming was correctly set to make him obey Optimus.

Unfortunately, they seemed very sure that it wouldn't be a problem. It would be a real feather in the council's proverbial cap if they could demonstrate to the populace that they could control and perhaps domesticate a threat like the fearsome leader of the enemy faction. Politicians could crow about how they kept the populace safe, and present Optimus as a far more appealing figurehead than Sentinel, who had thoroughly alienated so many mechs.

He was escorted down, far beneath the surface of Cybertron to the maximum security cells, energon bars and polymer- destronium alloy to try to contain the most dangerous of Decepticons. His escort of sizable (for Autobots) mechs ushered him through layers of scanners, secured doors, force fields that flickered off as he approached and resumed function as soon as the party was through.

The corridors were stark, well-lit but in no way welcoming.

He was let into the high security lab. It was a terribly intimidating room, which somehow managed to seem dark and cramped despite actually being spacious and extremely bright. Perhaps it was his frame of mind. Megatron was there, of course. The Decepticon leader was no longer wearing the form of his Earth alt mode. He was once again the spike-armored mech that Optimus originally encountered, when he was just a disgraced Academy washout who had been sent to the farthest reaches of Autobot space to do maintenance and sparkling-sit some other rejects.

The hulking Decepticon looked profoundly out of place among the small bright frames of the Autobot scientists and council flunkies, looming over even the larger security bots. He was restrained of course. The guards were obviously not taking any chances. There were at least three pairs of stasis cuffs, a mask over his mouth, and a collection of energy chains that were probably overkill, even if it was Megatron.

The tyrant's armor was dirty and battered, and it looked like he had been left to self-repair from their fight, with nothing but the most cursory of field patches. Optimus was surprised by how much his enemy's condition bothered him.

Megatron made him feel small. It was odd, because he no longer had that sensation around Ultra Magnus. In fact, not even Omega Supreme seemed quite as overwhelming to Optimus as Megatron did. He figured that was because Omega was a friend, and had become almost as much a part of his team as Bulkhead.

The Decepticon warlord was on his knees in the laboratory cell, his helm open to a collection of cables and wires hooked to various terminals. He looked a lot like Arcee had in a similar situation, but instead of the near-comatose blankness that had characterized the pink femme, Optimus could see the feral rage and a hint of desperate, despairing terror in the mech's near impassive face.

When had he gotten so practiced at reading Megatron? He had no idea. Perhaps it was all the practice in politics he had gotten over the last several orbital cycles.

He hated this. But it was orders, and it was his duty.

The medical bots explained to him that Megatron was ready, his programming primed to accept his master, and that all he would have to do was overlap his spark field with Megatron's as they initiated the codes that would bind them. One of the techs opened the warlord's chest plating with a series of overrides entered into a terminal connected directly to the Decepicon's processor. Another opened the manual latches, obviously nervous of Megatron's proximity despite all the cuffs and the hacking cables.

Optimus couldn't blame the med-tech. He could see the fine trembling in that powerful frame as the grey mech fought both the restraints and the programming with every ounce of strength he possessed. He wasn't looking forward to getting close to the grey mech either. The shaking that was the only visible sign of the Decepticon's desperate struggle against his bonds increased as the armor around his spark opened.

It wasn't enough.

Megatron's spark was the same pale blue-white of any Autobot, a cold, luminous orb of energy that pulsed rapidly with distress.

Optimus felt compelled to make one last protest.

"Alpha Trion, sir, I would like to make a formal objection-"

Apparently this had been expected, because one of the council mechs broke in smoothly. "This is a direct order from the entire council and Ultra Magnus, Optimus Prime. You must follow it in accordance with your oaths and responsibilities as a loyal Autobot and member of the Elite Guard. Refusal is not an option."

Well. At least there wasn't a lot of grey area. He looked at the Decepticon's armor. Figuratively speaking, that is. Optimus felt horribly like he had at his trial, after the loss of Elita One. He was doomed, and no one had his back in this. He looked at Megatron, meeting those furious, hate filled optics and made a tiny mental prayer to Primus for help and forgiveness.

Ignoring their audience for a moment, he gently touched the edge of his enemy's chest, by the open spark chamber. The mech was running hot as he fought the programming and the restraints.

One of the engineers fit a collar around the Decepticon's thick throat. The snick of it closing, and the hiss as the latch fused shut was like the sound of doom, and sent a shiver of apprehension through Optimus. He didn't need to kneel to bring his spark chamber to the same level as Megatron's. He laid one servo gently on the mech's battered cheek plating and met his eyes. The rage and hatred he saw there was like a physical blow, and the underlying despair made him wonder if perhaps he should have done the merciful thing and ended his enemy during their last battle.

Optimus knew that the watching politicians might judge him for it, but this mech was going to be bonded to him for the rest of their functioning. He hesitated for a moment, then braced his servos against the rough, spiky gray armor and leaned in.

"I am sorry, Megatron." He said softly, and brought their sparks together.

 

*****

Optimus gasped in shocked pleasure at the sensation. He had never touched another mech's spark, and had not expected this act with his enemy to be anything other than repulsive, or possibly painful. He was suddenly aware of another presence, twining with his energy fields, and his own spark reaching for Megatron's.

The Decepticon managed to choke out a single word, as his spark and coding were bound to the young Prime, and directives to obey and protect were forcibly uploaded and locked in place.

"N..no…"

Optimus arched uncontrollably against the powerful grey chassis, distantly aware that he was scratching his own paint against the sturdier armor of the Decepticon lord. He let out a tiny, breathy moan as electricity swept through his frame in a tingling wash of delicious power.

He could feel Megatron, an ancient, dark intelligence, magnificent in his power and cunning, now trapped by his enemies. The very mechs who had chained and enslaved him so long ago… The Decepticon groaned, and it was not a sound of pleasure.

Optimus could feel the other mech's distress, his anger and sadness and rage, and reflexively reached out in an attempt to soothe and comfort. It was as much a part of his nature as his urge to protect and build, and he saw no reason to resist. He could feel the bond settle into place, and knew on a deep, nearly instinctive level that the Decepticon belonged to him now.

He nearly wept.

He didn't want such a bond with Megatron, of all mechs. Hadn't wanted his first sparkmerge to be a filthy act of rape, in which neither one of them had any choice in the matter.

And then overload swept through them both, like being struck by heat lightning. Their voices mingled in cries of pain and pleasure, and the surge of power actually shorted out the stasis cuffs binding Megatron. The two of them toppled over, nearly in slow motion, and Optimus was dimly aware of huge clawed hands holding him to a dark chassis as oblivion swallowed him.

 

*****

 

Megatron awoke. There were still hacking cables attached to his helm, but his processor felt much clearer than it had in a long time. He had no idea how long he had been in the filthy Autobot prison, as they had disabled his chrono along with his weapons and many of his sensors, but it had to have been a few breems at the least.

He was flat on his back with a lot of weapons pointed at him, and there was a slim, broad shouldered little Autobot form sprawled limply across his chassis. His newly activated programming wanted him to be concerned for his new master's health, but he pushed it away with a mental sneer. They could make him obey, but they would never be able to force him to care for the mech they had bound him in servitude to.

He would make them regret it. Most bitterly.

This was not the first time he had been bound in servitude to another. He had outlived that long-ago Autobot and had taken his revenge on their whole society. He would not be cowed by being back in the chains that he had thought he was forever free of.

The Autobot Prime that the petty fools of the council had chosen as his new "master" was young, malleable. He could still be turned to the Decepticon way. Megatron had felt his reluctance at being bound to him, and knew that the mech had had no desire to merge sparks with him. The little Autobot should have finished him when he had the chance, during their battle on Earth. Perhaps this would teach him that sometimes ruthlessness was the proper way to deal with one's enemies.

No good deed goes unpunished, after all.

The council mech Proteus approached, though he was wise enough to not get too close. Probably the guards covering him with their weapons gave him false confidence. Busybody little waste of metal. The sniveling council mech was old enough to have been online when the slave programming was still standard for warrior builds. Megatron planned to kill him painfully at the earliest possible opportunity.

He shifted the unconscious form of his new master into his lap as he sat up slowly, the movement making the twitch guards tighten their servos on their weapons. They rightly feared him. Even stripped of his weapons, Megatron would be a match for the lot of them, in this confined space.

The smooth armored form of the Prime stirred against him. Good. The sooner the Autobot became accustomed to their bond, the sooner Megatron could start trying to convert him to… he… nuzzled his faceplates against Megatron's chest, right over the his spark. Ooooh, that was... good…

One silver-white thigh slipped over his bulkier one, and a tingle of pleasure shot straight to his interface array. Megatron stiffened in shocked denial as the Autobot's blue optics onlined. He braced his servos against his chest and raised himself up enough to look into Megatron's face. Frag. The little mech looked like he had just had the overload of his life, all dazed optics and softly pouty lip components. Those lips parted slightly, and turned up at the edges, the servos petting gently at his plating…

Then the young Prime woke up completely, and scrambled off of his lap like he had just encountered a patch of rust and couldn't get away fast enough. Megatron couldn't help but be offended. He was the one who had just been spark-raped and repeatedly hacked. The least his new master could do was look a little pleased at the state of affairs. Maybe gloat a little. Instead he looked like he wanted to purge his tanks.

Admittedly he wasn't exactly at his best at the moment, having been beaten, starved and reprogrammed, on top of having not been repaired after his encounter with this mech and the Magnus Hammer, but he wasn't a space barnacle, either. How dare the little Autobot look at him as though he was some sort of disgusting… creature.

 

*****

Optimus woke to warm, rough armor beneath his body. Distantly, he was aware that he was being held against a large chassis, and wondered why Sentinel seemed so pointy… He lazily nuzzled his berthmate and shifted to look up into his optics.

Oh, Unicron in the Pit. Megatron. He felt the alien presence within his spark and energy fields, and tore himself away from the hard body beneath him. He tingled with a fight or flight response, as his systems routed all available resources into his battle mods as he looked at the former Decepticon warlord, only a few steps away and far, far too close.

Councilor Proteus activated his vocalizer with an attention-grabbing crackle.

"Ah, Optimus Prime. It is good that you are online, after your… performance just now. Very impressive. I can see that you will find many… uses for your new slave. I am certain that you will need to spend some time, er, becoming accustomed to having such an… impressive specimen to do your bidding. I, and the council, am confident that you will use your new authority wisely."

Optimus stiffened in mortified reaction to the elder mech's smarmy tone. His fright was swiftly changing to complete embarrassment. He could feel himself heat-flushing with humiliation. The councilor was acting as though he had walked in on him molesting Megatron or something. He had been given a direct order to do this, and the fact that his circuits were still tingling from it was totally immaterial! He did not appreciate the insinuation that he was going to take advantage of the situation, of having a slave of all things, like that!

Oblivious to his discomfort, or perhaps simply uncaring, the older mech continued. "Ultra Magnus has authorized a generous period of vacation time which we expect you to utilize for your adjustment process. No one on Cybertron has had a bonded slave of this sort in thousands of cycles. Nevertheless, we must first test his programming alterations. Now, give the Decepticon an order."

An order? "Ah, like what, Sir? He could just be pretending to obey me." And the fact that he wasn't interested in having that kind of power over anybot was merely coincidental. It was a valid concern, though. Megatron was supposed to be with him constantly. Optimus snuck a peek at the Decepticon's face, which was somehow managing to be impassive and rage-filled simultaneously. Words could not express how much he hated the idea of having this mech who dwarfed him in both size and experience (not to mention savagery) at his back. He still couldn't believe that the council wanted him to keep Megatron with him all the time. They were even supposed to share quarters. At least the fraggers had issued him a much larger apartment, or the Decepticon would have to sleep curled up in the living room.

Proteus's mouth curved in an unpleasant smile. The creep.

"Perhaps you could…order him to give you pleasure?"

Optimus's fuel pump almost stalled in horrified mortification. He actually gaped at the disgusting old mech, at a loss for words. A few steps, away, Megatron gave a resonant snarl of pure rage.

Thankfully, Alpha Trion interrupted. "Really, Proteus, we are hardly Decepticons, to practice such vulgarities. We shall finish our diagnostics and Optimus will give Megatron an order while he is still hooked into the equipment, so that we may observe his neural structure under such stimulus. Optimus, give the Decepticon an appropriate order."

Optimus was at a loss for words. An order? All he really wanted was for Megatron to go far away and not be a threat…On the other hand…He looked into those rage-filled optics. "Say my name." He demanded quietly.

Megatron stared at him in what looked like utter surprise. The expression, with his savage rage momentarily smoothed away by bemusement, made him look almost handsome.

"Optimus Prime." He said, that deep, rumbling voice surprisingly quiet.

 

 

_A/N: One more thing: US history brownie points if you know where the title of this fic comes from._


	3. Housewarming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He followed me home, guess I'm keeping him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waveburst was the first person to identify the source of the title, and thus receives virtual American History Brownie Points. 
> 
> "But, as it is, we have the wolf by the ear, and we can neither hold him, nor safely let him go. Justice is in one scale, and self-preservation in the other."
> 
> \- Thomas Jefferson to John Holmes, (discussing slavery and the Missouri question) 1820.
> 
> Thomas Jefferson, the great proponent of personal liberty who was ironically also a slave owner. His philosophy and his life were totally contradictory. He owned hundreds of slaves, including a woman he had a decades-long relationship and four children with, but constantly said things like:
> 
> "I have sworn on the altar of God eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man."
> 
> and
> 
> "I have never been able to conceive how any rational being could propose happiness to himself from the exercise of power over others."
> 
> The "Wolf by the Ear" quote is on the wall of the Jefferson Memorial in Washington DC, and refers to the Very Bad Things he saw on the horizon if slavery continued, i.e. the American Civil War. Slavery was an evil thing that the country couldn't quit doing, lest it be savaged…
> 
> I will now remove my Nerd Hat and return you to your regularly scheduled fic.

*****

Eventually, after much testing and the eventual removal of the hacking cables and Megatron’s restraints, they were released from the maximum security labyrinth that was the Stockades. Optimus, Megatron, and a phalanx of guardbots proceeded to the palatial apartment that Optimus had been issued by the Elite Guard when he came back to Cybertron a hero. At the time, he had thought it was over the top, though useful when he had his friends visiting him. Now he was very glad of the space. At least he wouldn't be constantly tripping over the massive Decepticon warlord in his life.

At the tech's prompting, he had issued orders to Megatron that he would not attack or harm any Autobot, though Optimus insisted on a modification that would allow Megatron to respond with force in urgent self-defense situations. He was not leaving a mech under his care completely defenseless like that. There were a lot of Autobots who would try to harm the Decepticon leader, slave coding or no.

To his delighted relief, Ratchet was there when the door opened. He was actually a bit surprised the rest of the team from Earth wasn't also present, but he was grateful for it, nonetheless. The thought of Megatron sharing his living room with say, Bumblebee and Sari was mildly horrifying.

The guards finally left, and the three of them were left alone.

Aaaaaaawkward.

Fortunately, Ratchet was good at ignoring awkward until it shriveled up out of embarrassment and went away on its own. The medic looked Megatron's huge, battered frame up and down. "Well, you'd think they would have at least repaired you while you were in custody. Those are the same field patches I put on you after the Battle of Detroit."

Megatron snorted. "The staff of the Stockades were unconcerned with my well-being, Autobot. It was obvious that I would not expire, so they did not bother to enact further repairs. I imagine that they knew I would be the little Prime's responsibility soon enough." His stance was proud and unbending, despite his situation. Optimus couldn't help but admire that.

"I… I'm sure you're hungry. Please, sit." He said, and went to collect cubes of fuel for all three of them. It was excellent mid-grade, which he wouldn't normally indulge in during the middle of the day (he was a bit surprised it was still so early) but he had expended a lot of energy, what with the, well, overload earlier. And Megatron would undoubtedly be less than optimally fueled after his time in prison.

By the time he got back, Ratchet was already critically examining a corroded-looking weld on the Decepticon leader's back, and grumbling about Stockades medical staff and dereliction of duty.

To Optimus's surprise, Megatron looked mildly amused. He must have felt it over their fledgling bond, because that hard mouth quirked in a tiny smile and he shrugged slightly (which made Ratchet grumble at him). "Medics" he rumbled. "Real ones, at least. Not those mad scientist lap pets of your pit-spawned council."

 

Optimus deposited two of the cubes on a side table and handed the other one to Megatron. The mech just looked at him. Ratchet snorted. "He isn't going to take a cube from you, kid. Take a sip, or let him choose which of ‘em he wants."

The Decepticon turned narrowed optics towards the medic. "Pardon me if I have had several  
unfortunate experience with substances that Autobots have tried to convince me to ingest of late, medic." He said coldly.

"Um. Right." Optimus said. He was so very much in over his head here. He was hardly going to let his… whatever Megatron was now starve, though. He took a sip and tried giving the mech the cube again, quirking an optical ridge at the Decepticon.

A tiny, bitter smile curled at the corner of the hard gray mouth. "On the other servo, I suppose you hardly need to resort to drugging me at this point. _Master_."

Optimus failed to completely hide his wince.

Ratchet harumphed. "Well, this is a fine kettle of whales, as the humans say. First things first. After you finish that energon, you need to get cleaned up, and later I can coat these injuries with nanite solution. I’ll reactivate your chrono and make a few other repairs while I’m at it. Optimus, he's going to need a lot more fuel than an Autobot, and the two of you need to stabilize that bond. You can start by scrubbing down his back plating and helping him clean out his joints."

Optimus nearly choked on his fuel. "What?"

Megatron smirked at his dismay. "Afraid I'll bite, Autobot?"

Ratchet sighed. "Sparklings, play nice. The two of you just spark bonded, even if it's a slave bond and not the real thing. It's going to throw both of your systems off until you get used to it. Megatron, your programming is going to re-write your reactions to prioritize protecting Optimus. Plus it's going to force you to obey his direct orders. Optimus, you're going to be at least distantly aware of Megatron all the time. You'll learn to pay attention to the bond or ignore it as necessary. Eventually."

He finished with the weld he was examining and gave Optimus a Look. "Arcee and I have been doing some research. The kind of programming we're dealing with here hasn't been used in thousands of orbitals. You should come to visit us on Omega, where we can have a chat."

Megatron heaved an aggrieved sigh from his vents and rose from the low couch he had been sitting on to let Ratchet reach his damaged plating. Optimus couldn't help but notice the lethal grace of the simple movements. "I shall take myself to your wash racks, if the two of you feel the need to plot behind my back. Do inform the little Prime of why this programming fell out of favor, medic." With that, he swept out of the room like he was leaving the deck of his flagship, lord and master of his domain rather than moving around the apartment of his new master.

Optimus looked at his friend and medic, who didn't seem nearly disturbed enough by that last part. "Ratch, I'm doomed, aren't I?"

Ratchet actually chuckled. "I doubt it. He's not as confident as he's acting. Thing about this programming. He technically has to protect you and obey orders, but if he tries, he can exploit any loopholes or contradictions in those orders halfway to the galactic core and back. He could, for instance, probably fight that programming just enough to be a split second too late in throwing himself in front of a missile for you, in which case the slave code goes dormant again."

"Lovely." Said Optimus. "So I now have a bodyguard who would like me to get killed, and a whole lot of Decepticons who want me dead to free their leader. And here I thought the Council actually wanted me in charge. At least as a figurehead."

"Well, they probably don't want you dead so much as they're simultaneously testing you and hoping you can solve a major problem for them. That problem being Megatron, of course. He scares them, and you're the only Autobot in a very long time who's been able to deal with him. Even Ultra Magnus had a lot of help last time he fought that mech." Ratchet replied.

"I had the Magnus Hammer, the jet-pack Sari made me, and Prowl, Ratchet. It's not like I fought him with my bare servos and came out victorious."

"Hah." Ratchet replied. "I seem to recall you fighting him _and_ a crowd of his top lieutenants with nothing but your axe and a handful of civilian space-bridge repair bots. That's impressive as pit. Everyone on Cybertron knows it, and so do the Decepticons. Thing is, that makes the Cons a lot less likely to try to assassinate you out of hand. Unless they think you're treating their captured leader dishonorably, that is."

"Ratchet, they just made me forcibly spark merge with him while he was being hacked. I'm pretty sure that's dishonorable by anybot’s book."

The old mech snorted derisively. " Optimus, you were under coercion. You objected loudly and publicly, and they had to give you a direct order as a member of the Elite Guard. It's not like you went and molested your captured enemy for some kind of sick self-gratification." His mouthplates quirked in a small smile. "Which reminds me; how was it?"

"Ratch!"

"No, really. This is important. Did you overload? Did he?" Despite the earlier joking, the medic looked serious.

"Well...yes. Why?" asked the Prime, trying not to flush with the heat of the remembered sensation.

"It's an indicator of compatibility. A slave bond like you and he have is actually a code-modified spark bond. Like any bond, it's a lot more solid and healthy if the two sparks involved are compatible. There are a lot of reasons that no bot has this coding any more, and not all of them are because of politics or morals. If the two of you turned out to be a really incompatible match, the artificial bond could start to damage your own spark's cohesion over the long term. Which brings me back to the original question. Did both of you overload, and was it any good?"

Optimus privately wondered just how many more mortifying things were likely to happen to him today. "Yeah, Ratch, both of us overloaded. And...it was...amazing."

"Well, that's one less thing to worry about, then. Part of the reason you were selected for this “mission” is that your readings indicated you had a compatible spark, but it’s good to have it confirmed. Now, on to stabilizing the bond. You're going to need to spend some time together, preferably in close proximity. Which brings us back to you helping him clean all the joints and plating he can't reach. He's got some nasty corrosion starting from being in prison with no repairs and not enough energon."

Optimus shifted uncomfortably. "Ratch, I really don't think he's going to want me touching him. I felt it during our...bond. He hates me, and he was so angry and disgusted. I've never felt such rage before." He shivered a bit. "Pit, I'm _bonded_ to a bot who _hates_ me.

The old medic gave his young friend a sympathetic smile. "Sounds like you need to spend some time convincing him not to hate you, then. Probably a good start would be bringing him another cube and seeing to his injuries. After that, the next step would be refraining from any more interfacing that he doesn't initiate."

The horrified widening of Optimus's optics made the medic guffaw. "Don't worry about it, kid. Just get though sharing the same wash rack as him for right now. Hopefully he won't actually try to bite."

"Gee Ratchet, thanks for the vote of support." Optimus said dryly. "If I have to bathe the Decepticon, you get to tell the rest of the team all about my new roommate. I know Omega and Arcee are figuratively sitting on Bee, Sari and Bulkhead to keep them out from underpede during this little transition."

 

****

Optimus hesitantly stepped into the cleansing facility. It was warm and filled with steam from the mild solvents that the washracks defaulted to. The place was the size of his Academy dorm room, and he had shared that with another bot. When he had first seen his new apartment, he had wondered if the Elite guard had bought this place from some sort of hedonist, for the size of its facilities. It was an older building, and perhaps it had been designed back when Cybertronians tended to be larger than they were today. The master berth was huge, too. He heat-flushed at the thought. Yes, of course it would be. They knew who he was going to be living with, after all.

 

Ratchet’s comments about interfacing and Megatron in the same context had freaked him out a little. That was, as the humans would say, Not Okay. In multiple ways.

In this day and age, Autobots were smaller than their forebears, and apartments like this were most likely to be inhabited by mechs who entertained a lot. Either lavish parties or a lot of lovers. Or both, of course. It didn't have quite enough rooms to be suitable for a family or team group, but instead had a smaller number of large, high ceilinged rooms.

Sari had taken one look at it and started talking about how he needed to personalize it so it wasn't so cold and unwelcoming. He privately agreed. Bulkhead had given him a painting, which was still in storage, and Professor Sumdac had told him he would be sending an "Autobot sized bonsai" with daughter the next time she returned from a trip to Earth. 

It also had a cleaning facility with both a cleanser shower and a soaking pool. It was beautiful and luxurious, very different then anywhere he had ever lived before. Apparently war heroes got much shinier accommodations than junior Primes. 

Megatron was using the shower, the solvent gleaming off his battered armor. Maybe it was the only place they could find with a washrack that would comfortably fit a Decepticon warframe. Optimus just really hoped that Proteus hadn't had a hand in picking the place out.

Megatron didn't say anything or look directly at him as he entered the room, energon cube in servo. The mech was scrubbing at one of his elbow joints, and Optimus could see that there were dents from the restraints in the heavy armor. He took a deep invent and walked into the spacious, luxuriously appointed wash rack. He felt a lot like a glitchmouse foolishly approaching a turbofox in its den. Unfortunately, they were in Optimus's den, and the turbofox was going to be a permanent resident.

"Ah, Ratchet said you would need more fuel." Optimus said awkwardly. "Do you want me to try it first?''

The Decepticon looked haughtily down at his new captor, then sighed. Optimus realized that he looked tired, almost haggard. He was reminded how very much older than him Megatron was. "I suppose it hardly matters at this point. I shall try to contain my instinctive distrust of fuel from an Autobot's hands for practical reasons, little Prime."

Well, Optimus supposed it was something, at least.

Wordlessly, he handed the grey and burgundy mech the cube, noticing the careful way those great, scarred servos with their lethal talons curled around the container. He wondered suddenly if Megatron had to make a habit of being gentle with his surroundings, to avoid breaking things with his war-modified strength. He looked up, met those red, red optics, and hastily looked away. First aid. He was just going to provide some much-needed first aid to a captured enemy. That's all this was. Perfectly honorable, perfectly Autobot, and completely innocent.

The fact that he could still feel faint, tiny thrums of pleasure through his systems after that intense overload against the warlord's spark was immaterial. His systems were just confused, thinking that he was near a bonded lover, sharing a washrack with a mech who meant enough to him that they would share sparks. They would get with the program soon enough, and hopefully he and Megatron could settle into a nice respectful "captured enemy being treated honorably" sort of relationship. That was the only reasonable way to go, after all.

Wasn't it?


	4. Adjustment

While the Decepticon warlord sipped the energon, Optimus took a large sponge from one of the cabinets, added cleanser and dampened it. He eyed the huge, dark spiky form of his new bonded ( Primus ) and realized that there was a small problem. Or rather, an oversized one. He wasn't going to be able to reach Megatron's upper back and also see what he was doing unless the other was on his knees or sitting, or Optimus stood on a chair.

The grey mech finished the fuel, and set the cube on a ledge in the wall. It was probably designed to hold the sort of expensive cleansers and polishes the kind of bot who would normally own a place this size might use.

"Um." Optimus said. "Ratchet said you have some corrosion on your back, probably from hitting the ground in Detroit, and not getting repaired afterwards. I'm going to need you to sit, or kneel so I can reach. "

Megatron gave him a cold, haughty look and didn't move.

So it was going to be like that, was it? Frag.

Well, it wasn't like Optimus hadn't found himself in command of mechs who didn't respect him or acknowledge him as a leader before. They would just have to work it out, like he had with the team on Earth. Megatron couldn't be  that much harder to lead than Prowl, right? Especially since Optimus had the upper hand in several ways.

"Sit down." He said. He didn't try to use a command voice, as when he had tried to make Bumblebee and Bulkhead obey him, back when they were all repairing space bridges in the aft end of nowhere. He tried to use the sort of tone that would put a lower ranking officer at ease. It was still an order, but he wasn't going to rub the Decepticon's face plates in it. They had both suffered enough humiliation today.

Brrr. The look on Megatron's face could have frozen molten steel. The Decepticon sat, and Optimus started scrubbing his back, his servos brisk and impersonal on the damaged plating. He used just enough pressure to clean the injuries, knowing from a few of his own misadventures in the past how uncomfortable it was to clear grit out of damage like that. The grey and burgundy mech was tense beneath his servos, his plating clamped tightly to his frame. Those clawed hands were clenched tightly enough on his knee plates that they were in danger of leaving even more dents.

Well. There was no way Optimus was going to order him to relax. He really did not need to feel any more like a rapist than he already did. He decided to follow Ratchet's lead and act like everything was fine. Well, fineish.

So Optimus carefully and industriously washed and scrubbed at the armor of his greatest opponent and the personal nightmare of a large segment of the Autobot population. He used the brush on Megatron's joints, gratified when the wary tension began to gradually ease out of the other's frame. The plates of his armor were no longer clamped tightly shut like they would be for combat, they were slightly unfurled to allow the solvents to work through the cabling and wires, washing out grit and mineral deposits.

Megatron's strong, elegantly lethal build was fascinating, and his warm plating was tempting to explore further, but Optimus was not a pervert like Proteus. He didn't want to intrude on the privacy of someone who was so obviously distressed by his touch.

*****

Well, so far being an Autobot’s slave was a lot more like being at a nice spa than he had been anticipating. Given his experience last time, Megatron had been expecting some creative abuse and probably a round of molestation by now. Normally when an Autobot took a new slave, the mech would do…things to show his dominance. His previous master had paraded him around with the marks he had left on his chassis in full view.

Being well fed, having his wounds treated, and now having the little Prime detailing his armor was not exactly the set of circumstances he had been bracing himself for. And the multicolored mech was being so…thorough about it. No inappropriate touches at all, though they were surprisingly pleasant now that he was paying attention to them instead of waiting for the rape and torture to commence.

Megatron was darkly amused by the irony that  now he had the fierce young Autobot who had defeated him in battle carefully scrubbing out the joints in his back plating like a devoted and trusted servant. He had, perhaps had a few fantasies about similar scenarios when he was trapped in Isaac's lab, trying to scheme his way to freedom. It had been a small amusement, a way to pass the time. Of course in his imaginings this had not been the circumstances he envisioned.

The Autobot Prime was being so gentle. He had been tense under those hands, waiting to be ordered down, made to serve his master in the most humiliatingly intimate ways…

And nothing had happened.

As much as his mind wanted to rage and snarl at finding himself a slave again, his body had other ideas. It wanted to collapse into a pile of pleasantly relaxed goo as the fuel, cleanliness and gentle touches soothed away the pain and filth of the Stockades. He honestly wasn't sure what to do. He knew how to cope with cruelty and abuse in a situation like this. His model had had the slave programming included because they were considered too large and dangerous to be uncontrolled in peacetime. When they were at war with the Quintessons, the warrior builds had been treated like any other soldiers, except more specialized for the tasks of war.

It was only afterwards that their programming had been activated. After the Quints were driven away and Cybertron began to rebuild, many of his generation found that they could not cope with peace. They were suddenly cut adrift, without the military structure that had given their existences form. There had been…incidents. Some were the fault of the war builds, many not. The end result had been the activation of their coding, and the time of bondage. Then the revolts had come, and the Great War which ended the so-called Golden Age.

Hmmmm…Oh, that felt good. The young Prime was gently scrubbing out the inside of his shoulder array with a soft brush. He automatically flexed the armor around the joint to increase the reachable area. Obviously his original plan of stoically enduring anything that was done to him until he could take his terrible, energon-soaked revenge would need a little tweaking. It was hard to stoically endure things that made him want to purr.

It had been far too long since he had had this type of contact with another being. The beatings from the guards and the violations from the engineers who had hacked him certainly did not count. It would be too easy to power down his optics and pretend he was with Shockwave, or Lugnut or any one of his loyal Decepticons.

Perhaps it was some sort of trickery? The little Prime thought he could be fooled into granting him some sort of loyalty, or leniency? If so, he was a fool.

The back of his neck was gently scrubbed, and it was all he could do to avoid leaning into the touch. On the other servo, perhaps the Autobot had some sort of fetish, and this was the sort of thing that made his engine hum. The opposite of sadism, perhaps? Caretaker programming? A fixation on having everything around him clean and shiny? If that was it, he wouldn't have liked Earth very much, and he had seemed disturbingly at home on that alien world…

Well, perhaps the wise thing to do would be to wait and see. For all he knew, the Autobot's current behavior was prompted by the medic's presence, or afterglow from the spark merge. The overload caused by that had been…surprising. If climaxing made the Autobot Prime affectionate and cuddly, well, that would be easy enough to work with. At least he was attractive, so it wouldn't be too much of a chore. He had certainly experienced worse duties in his functioning.

*****

Optimus had finished with all the sections of Megatron's chassis that the big mech would have trouble reaching on his own, and extended his ministrations to other parts; the backs of his arms, the strong, flexible cabling of his neck, his helm. He should really stop now. But it felt so good, so right to be close to him. His spark was warm and content in its chamber and his new bonded felt good under his servos. It was only natural to try to soothe away the abuse that his opponent had suffered once he was out of Opimus and his team's custody.

The warm plating on the strong form was fascinating, especially when the mech relaxed and began to flare his armor for cleaning. Optimus could see some of his flight modifications. It was fascinating, to know that once models like this had been a part of the general Cybertronian population, before if became true that "there were no flying Autobots".

Megarton had gone almost limp under his servos. It was so nice to be able to do this, to touch a piece of Cyberton's living history so intimately. He had always been fascinated by this mech when he had studied the records of the Great War, before going to Earth. He wanted to study him more closely now. The strong, interlocking plates at the small of his back were intriguing, the elegant strength in the sophisticated mechanisms incredible. The aft below was a work of art…

He suddenly realized what he was thinking, and mentally jerked to a halt. This was Megatron, his captured enemy, scourge of Cybertron, tyrant of the interplanetary darkness. He was not Optimus's lover, and didn't want his touch, for all that their sparks apparently thought they were. He needed to stop doing this. Right now.

"I'll, ah, let you finish by yourself." He said, heat-flushing (again!) with embarrassment.

By the time Megatron had shaken off the wonderful, lethargic sense of relaxation to register the young Prime's words, the joint brush had been set by his side, and the Autobot's footsteps were rapidly receding into the distance. Little tease.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Megarton is determined to resist the tortures the Autobot is planning for him. He's pretty stumped on how you fiercely resist sweetness and light though. And hotness, of course. I had originally planned for there to be hanky panky, but the characters were too busy angsting to make with the sexy._


	5. Night

When Megatron emerged from the maintenance facility, the Prime and the medic had been joined by a familiar looking, lithe black and white mech with a visor. He absently searched his databanks to recall that this Autobot was a Cyberninja formerly under the command of the large-chinned idiot Prime. A formidable warrior, for an Autobot. Gossip in the stockades (which Megatron had avidly eavesdropped on) put him as an almost certain addition to the ranks of the Primes.

Like the young Prime, this Autobot was almost unfairly good looking, all clean lines and contrasting colors. Sometimes Megatron suspected that the Magnus chose his lieutenants for reasons more aesthetic than practical. Typical of the decadence that Cybertron had fallen to. That, at least was one flaw no one could lay at Megatron's stabilizers. Look at Lugnut, after all.

Two pairs of optics and one visor turned to look at him, and he instinctively straightened his posture to military correctness. Filthy Autobots, daring to parade him before their friends as though he were a captive alien beast…

"So uh, now that I've checked in on you, I'll just be goin' Op." The mech said. "I can see that you're all still functionin' and uh, obviously busy, so I can let the rest of the team know to do their own thing for a while..."

The medic caught hold of a piece of the ninja's kibble and hauled him back as he attempted to make his escape. "Hold it, speedy." The gruff voice said. "You decided to barge in, you're going to be properly introduced to the new mech in your leader's life. For all we know, you might end up with your own Decepticon roommate, if those sanctimonious twits don't get their heads out of their exhaust pipes pretty fragging soon."

" _What_." Someone snarled. The white mech took a step backwards, and tripped over the couch in a most un-ninjalike manner. Oh, the snarl and the attached growling noise had come from him. Megatron took a moment to center himself. No need to let the Autobots know what his triggers were, after all.

Unlike the slender ninjabot, the Prime took a step toward him, his stance and face broadcasting sympathy. "We hope it won't come to that, Megatron. But, if it does, I'll do what I can. The council would put me in charge of such a project, and I won't pair your lieutenants with bots who would mistreat them."

"This is one of the main reasons the Great War started, _Autobot_." He snarled. "The leaders then wouldn't accept war builds as citizens, tried to treat them like drones, then like toys. The Decepticons will die before they go back to those days. Even the least of us. Even if we have to take all of Cybertron with us." His servos fisted, his claws scoring his palms. "Once word of this atrocity reaches the rest of my kind, the council will _burn_."

"To be fair, you flying, fighting types didn't exactly settle into civilian society real well." The medic said. "There were rashes of assaults and murders and assorted destruction everywhere that tried to integrate you into society. What the Senate did back then was all kinds of wrong, but you lot didn't exactly have clean servos either."

"So they chose slave bonding."

Blue optics flashed. "I ain’t defending those aft headed fools, but right here and now, it was either this or shooting you through the spark chamber in front of half the populace. Optimus isn't some over-engineered underclocked compassionless towers twit like your last master. And now we know about the side effects of this kind of bonding. Neither one of you is going to go insane from an incomplete, atrophied spark bond with an incompatible mech. The medics’ oversight board was watching this time, and they made it a condition that anyone they activated the code in would only be attached to a bot whose spark had close resonance to theirs."

A tiny, grim smile played across the medic's lip components. "Of course, that's also going to make it a lot harder for you or any other Con to get out of their predicament by having their fellows assassinate their master. It may not be a True Bond, but the Slave Sparkbond will hurt you if your master dies. Maybe past recovering.”

"I barely felt it, when DiamondSinger died." Megatron retorted. It was true, after all. Sparkbond or no, all he had felt was a sense of freedom…

"That's because he was a sociopathic aft with heat sinks for processors." The medic replied.

"Any you would know this how, Autobot?" He just barely avoided adding the word "scum."

"Arcee and I have been doing some research, ever since we got the news. Plus the Iaconian Medical Council got wind of this little disaster and overruled the Council on some of the particulars. I'm attending physician for the two of you, by the way. My job is to make sure the pair of you don't damage each other's sparks, either unintentionally or on purpose. Not that Optimus here is likely to do anything nasty to you without provocation anyway."

The Prime in question was back to looking horrified. "What are you talking about, Ratch? The Council said I had to be his master because I won in battle. They didn't say anything about going insane or dying if the bond is broken!"

"That's because they're jerks, Prime. Things were different, back when the Magnus bore the Matrix of Leadership and there were AllSpark Voices. There was more of a balance. But the Matrix was lost during the last Quintesson War, there hasn't been a legitimate Voice in eons, and we don't have either to act as a moral check to Cybertron's leaders any more. Besides, the battle thing is important. It makes the Decepticon less likely to subconsciously fight when the bond is established if he already respects you."

They all turned to look at the Decepticon in question. "I do not respect the little Autobot Prime." He said.

The red, blue and silver mech winced.

"Don't worry, he'll get over it once he gets to know you." Said the medic to the Prime. "The space bridge team did, after all. Now, Jazz and I are going to drive off, and you two are going to have a nice quiet evening and recharge, preferably with your energy fields overlapping. It will do the both of you a world of good. Nice job on his plating, by the way. He looks like he was professionally detailed. Make sure he gets another coat of wax before he goes out again."

Ratchet gestured towards the medical toolkit laid out on a low table. “Now, I have some damage to fix. Megatron?”

With a put-upon sigh, Megatron lowered himself to the floor again, putting most of his plating within Ratchet’s reach. Optimus pretended to read a datapad while the red and white mech popped dents and applied gels to the Decepticon’s plating. Eventually, he declared himself satisfied with the state of his repairs.

“Well, the two of you have clearly had a long cycle.” Ratchet said. “Time to recharge. Try not to fight, it’s bad for your recovery.”

With that, Ratchet patted Optimus on the arm and ushered the ninja out, firmly shutting the door behind them.

*****

In the suddenly empty apartment, the two mechs stared at each other. What in the galaxy were you supposed to do when you had your greatest opponent living with you? Optimus decided to continue with his (probably doomed) attempt at acting like things were normal.

He led his guest to the master suite, which contained the only berth in the sizable apartment that would comfortably accommodate a mech the size of the huge Decepticon warrior. "You should recharge, Megatron." He said softly. "I know you've had a long day. The main berthroom is big enough for you to use comfortably." He resisted the urge to babble inconsequential details about the apartment, his surprise at getting it issued to him, and its size and luxury. The leader of the Decepticons was probably used to that sort of thing.

It was Optimus who was used to Academy barracks, the cramped quarters on-board Omega Supreme, or to Earth. The accommodations there had been interesting, but not exactly elegant or convenient. Suddenly, Optimus found himself missing the little organic world with a sharp pang. Things had been so much simpler there, and he would have been able to go sit under Prowl's tree and think. That he would have been able to talk to Prowl…

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost missed the renewed flood of fear and anger across the vestigial spark bond. He looked up at Megatron, optics wide. The mech's face was back to being impassive, but his optics were filled with hatred.

Oh. Right.

"I'll ah, leave you to your rest." He said, inwardly squirming. Ratchet had said they should recharge near one another, but slag him if he was going anywhere near a mech who was looking at him like that.

He left the Decepticon by the open door and retreated to the far end of the main room. He was not running, he told himself. Merely giving Megatron some obviously much needed space.

*****

Well. That had not been what he had expected. Megatron sat on the edge of the soft, spacious berth, feeling the high density memory foam give beneath him. So unlike the hard metal of his cell in the Stockades.

He had assumed that when all the witnesses had gone, he would see the young Prime's true character, and perhaps he had. The mech had looked shocked and distressed, probably at the aggression he had felt over the bond.

Megatron frowned thoughtfully. Already he was at least as aware of his new master's emotions as he had been of his old owner's. That awareness had not developed until many cycles had passed. It was more than a little disconcerting. He did not desire such intimacy with an Autobot master, and he seriously doubted that the little mech felt any differently.

He reclined on the berth, distantly noticing how comfortable it was as his processing routines worked on the problem of the little Prime who was going to be a part of his life for the immediately foreseeable future. He allowed himself a full-body stretch, happy at least that he was able to do so after so long retrained and hemmed in by walls and guards. His plating was clean, his injuries treated, and he was not currently being forced to submit to any unwanted fragging. He had had worse evenings.

Staring up at the delicately engraved ceiling with its swirling decorative fractal pattern, he wondered if the Prime was disgusted by him. Perhaps he was being left alone because the Autobot did not wish to touch him.

But no, he had detected no such thing in the washrack earlier. If anything, the Prime had seemed to enjoy cleaning him. It had been… pleasant. He was still mulling over the issue when he realized how tired he actually was. His rage had been keeping him awake and alert all this time, but now in these peaceful surroundings, it had insufficient fuel to sustain itself. Exhaustion rose like a great dark wave, and recharge sucked him under. In the luxurious home of his enemy, Megatron slept.

*****

Optimus sat on the floor of the elegant little balcony attached to his new home, leaning against the building's wall, his legs stretched out before him. He gazed thoughtfully at the brilliant, many-spectra lights of the city of Iacon. It was not so unlike Detroit, at this distance. Except for all the extra moons, of curse. Funny how much that odd organic world had come to feel like home. Perhaps it had been the mechs he was with that had caused the effect.

He sipped the small cube of the high-grade that Ratchet had brought him, contemplating the Universe's warped sense of humor. This was not at all what he had had in mind when he had dreamed of becoming a Prime, or being a hero.

The medic had instructed him to recharge near Megatron, but he felt sick at the thought of being in a berth with someone who hated him. The Decepticon feared him now, too. Because of the bond, and what Optimus could order him to do on a whim. Certainly Megatron wouldn't be afraid of somebot like him under other circumstances.

The Decepticon leader was one of the most legendarily badaft fighters in the galaxy, and Optimus was practically a youngling in comparison. The worst part was, if Megatron hadn't been so angry and afraid, Optimus would have been more than happy to crawl into that berth beside him and feel that energy field, complex with age and cunning, hum against his own.

He sighed, and clunked his helm back against the wall of the apartment building. He needed to get a grip. Just because he was unexpectedly attracted to the mech did not mean that he had any right to invade his personal space.

Of course, it was medical directives, and it wasn't like he would do anything unethical… He could feel the pull of the bond faintly, and it almost seemed to be calling him to Megatron's side. He mentally shook it off. Too bad. There was no way he was going in that room tonight. You don't earn a mech's trust or loyalty by intruding on them when they're vulnerable. He might not be the Universe's most experienced leader, but he knew that much.


	6. Morning

Optimus woke in the spare berthroom, glorious morning light streaming in the elegantly arched and peaked window. He resisted the urge to swear at it. Morning meant getting up and starting to adjust to the recent changes in his life. He seriously missed the days when he mostly had to worry what Sari and Bumblebee were getting up to, or that Prowl was off watching pigeons hatch and wouldn’t be available next time they ran into a Starscream clone.

 

He felt a pang in his spark. It still surprised him, how much he missed Prowl. It wasn’t like Elita. The ninja had chosen to be a hero, had died in the service of all Cybertronians and the myriad life forms on Earth. Elita had died…had been lost in a stupid accident, which had been partly his fault, if only for going along with Sentinel’s foolishness.

 

Speaking of his spark… he cautiously felt along the bond, expecting it to be raw and painful, like a wound. It was nothing like that at all, just a vague sense of another being. A somnolent being, deep in a defragmentation cycle. Megatron was still asleep. He could actually tell from here, if he really concentrated on it.

 

The Decepticon felt completely different this way. Instead of a vortex of rage and hatred and concealed fear, he was a warm and solid presence. It figured that the war machine would seem peaceful only when unconscious.

 

With a sigh, Optimus dragged himself off of the comfortable mesh and foam platform and sat up. He would let his new flatmate sleep in. After the day that mech had had, he probably needed all the recharge he could get.

 

He took his time on standard maintenance, and checked his messages. There were several, mostly from his team, as well as a lot of weasel-y congratulation notes from politicians.

 

He poured himself a cube, and turned on the info-net monitor. Taking a sip of the light-grade, he settled at the table in the entertaining area. Then he nearly spat the mouthful out when he saw the bulk of the main stories. 

 

Apparently all of Cybertron had heard the news. And it was controversial. And apparently, attracting a _lot_ of prurient interest and lurid speculation. All the major news outlets were delicately skating around the issues of what an Autobot Prime does with a powerful Decepticon in his quarters, but many of the less reputable ones weren’t so discreet.

 

And then there were the…fan sites. He gaped at the info-net shrines to him, to Megatron, to flying bots, to them as a pair…

 

He cycled his optics off, then back on. Unfortunately that didn’t change what he was seeing. He switched back to The Cybertronian. It was a reputable information brokerage, known for accuracy but also a certain degree of stodginess. Bots were arguing heatedly on its forums if it was ethical, or if it was wise, to bind Megatron to him. Some were worried that the power of having the lord of the Decepticons at his back and call would corrupt him. There were angry tirades against taking the same kind of actions that had catalyzed the Decepticon uprising in the first place.

 

Other editorials and comments argued that the war hadn’t really been about that at all, had instead been a lot of complex socio-economic factors and had been inevitable… It was a relief that bots weren’t blaming him for this cluster-frag, at least.

 

Eventually, he had to look. Respectable news sources were all well and good, but a lot of public opinion was shaped by less intellectual things. Optimus dialed up Cybertronian World News, the worst muckraking, scandalmongering tabloid on the planet, and braced himself. 

 

Thankfully, it mostly consisted of innuendo and stills from his fights with Megatron- especially ones that could have been misinterpreted if taken out of context. The caption on the picture of Optimus bound up by his own grappling cables while suspended in Megatron’s grasp made him flush all the way to his helm fins. He supposed it could be worse. He was fortunate that he had been such an obscure mech before Earth. There simply wasn’t much in the way of slag for them to dig up.

 

The articles were filled with lurid speculation, and there were old, old cases of abuse of Decepticon slaves by Autobot masters, and brutal murders of those same masters by slaves, or more often, by free Decepticons. He shivered slightly. 

 

His comm pinged a very familiar frequency, and he opened a vid feed to Jazz. “Hey Op, how’s it going? You and Mega Con still in one piece?”

 

A reluctant smile pulled at Optimus’s lip components. “Hello, Jazz.” He said. “Fortunately we are still in two pieces, but yes, I’m fine and Megatron is still asleep. He had a rough cycle.” 

 

“Fair enough, man” the ninja replied. “Just wanted ta check in with some intel. Your teammates are getting antsy about making sure you’re okay and the Con hasn’t offed you. You might want to check in soon. Otherwise the young bots will be knocking down your door soonish rather than later.”

 

Optimus nodded. It had been next on his list, but he had gotten distracted by the tabloids. “I was planning to head over to Omega shortly. I just wanted to make sure Ratch and Arcee were ready for guests, and perhaps some panic from Bumblebee and Sari.” 

 

Jazz looked a bit more serious. “That little femme is more likely to blast first and question later, Boss-bot.” He said. “She seems ta think you’re in danger from him even with the slave code. And she’s a lot scarier than someone so small ought ta be.” 

 

Optimus smiled. “She has her reasons. Besides, that’s a major reason I want plenty of adult supervision on this meet and greet. Between them, Arcee, Ratchet and Omega should be able to keep the others out of trouble. Bulkhead’s usually pretty reasonable, but Bee and Sari…”

 

“I getcha, Op.” Said Jazz. “’Nother important bit o’ news, though. You’ve got spy-eyes. By which I mean reporters. They’re camped out as close to your place as they can get, which is right by the building doors, and the only reason they’ve gotten stopped there is that you’re in the housing for diplomats and sensitive-clearance government bots.” 

 

Optimus groaned. “I saw the news. They’re going to swarm me if I walk out the door, with or without Megatron, aren’t they?”

 

A sympathetic smile was his response. “Fraid so, Op. You might want to fly, if the techs reconnected Big and Pointy’s thrusters.”

 

Optimus thanked Jazz for the excellent advice, commed Omega Supreme, then went to get his jet pack. He had a feeling he was going to be wanting to avoid crowds for the immediate future.

 

****

 

When Megatron emerged from the comfortable room he had recharged in, he knew his master’s location like a magnet knows a pole. It was highly unsettling. He indulged himself in a little growling grumble. It was nice that he wasn’t being tortured or molested, but he would prefer the bond to be much weaker. A few of the other old-model Decepticons had mentioned things like this, but he had always thought they exaggerated. He had certainly experienced no such thing, before.

 

A strong, empathetic Slave Bond meant that it was much more difficult to accidentally get your master killed without harming yourself. He had no desire to end up like Starscream, after all. Things were going to be difficult if his Decepticons couldn’t just shoot the Prime through the spark from a distance.

 

He was in the short hallway leading to the main rooms. The flooring was laid out in interlocking tiles of textured metal, in restrained but elegant designs. The whole place spoke of wealth and status, but lacked any personal touches. It had probably been issued to the Pime at the same time the council decided to bind Megatron to him.

 

At least the ceilings were a comfortable height. He didn’t even have to duck when going through doorways.

 

The young Prime was sitting at the table in the study off the main entertaining room, meticulously tuning the engines of the winged jetpack he had used in their last battle. Useful technology. He hoped it did not become popular amongst the Autobot Army or Elite Guard. They were quite troublesome enough as it was. 

 

The morning light made the Autobot’s bright colors glow like gems, and with his battle mask up, the expression of concentration on the Autobot’s face plates was almost endearing. He could have been any civilian, recently entered the army during the Quintesson Wars, determined to fight the alien menace as well as any mech built for the purpose.

 

He looked terribly young. 

 

Those big blue optics widened slightly, and the mech smiled a little awkwardly at him. It was almost…cute. Which was foolish. Megatron was not some bright-eyed young soldier just brought online, to be deceived by the pretty civilian mechs who would only turn on their warrior brethren once the wars were over.

 

He scowled at the colorful Autobot, who dropped his optics slightly and fiddled with the screwdriver he held. “There’s fuel in the dispenser.” The Prime said neutrally. “Please help yourself. We’re going out shortly, and flying will save both of us a lot of time and annoyance.”

 

*****

 

Fortunately, Megatron could, in fact, fly. His transformation cogs were still offline, though. 

 

Optimus felt an almost guilty pleasure at being able to launch himself off his balcony and soar over the city of Iacon, avoiding the traffic and curious onlookers below. He sternly repressed the urge to indulge in some acrobatics. He would wait until some time when no one was watching for that.

 

The air was crisp and cool and the sun warm against his plating. He had to admit it, he adored being able to fly. It was lucky that the military science division had created flying Autobots before he got his jetpack, though. Mecha were used to seeing the occasional personal-sized wingspan over the city nowadays. It hadn’t even been too much of a hassle to get a flight path clearance over the city, since they were so much smaller and lower-flying than the regular transport planes that they didn’t use the same airspace.

 

To his right, Megatron flew in formation with him. He could feel a touch of fierce enjoyment over the bond, with a bit of annoyance, probably at their sedate pace, or the fact that Optimus had insisted upon taking the point position. He was expected to be in charge, after all, and it wouldn’t look right if he was following his…prisoner. Guard. Fine, Megatron was technically his slave, but there was no reason to belabor the fact.

 

He glanced at the bulky grey and maroon form to his right side, and slightly behind. Perhaps once Megatron had adjusted to their situation, they could fly maneuvers with the Jet Twins. Just watching a seasoned flier like the Decepticon in action would be educational for the much less experienced Autobots. Including him. He had learned from a combination of trial and error, and watching Decepticons fight.

 

Optimus appreciated the irony that he had learned so much about both fighting and flying from Megatron and his soldiers. It was truly too bad that they had to be enemies… He could only hope that someday he would have the kind of aerial mastery that Starscream and his clones could display. Of course, he did turn into a fire truck and not a jet, so perhaps he should set his sights a little lower. For all that he loved flying, he had been very much sparked a grounder. 

 

In the privacy of his own processor, Optimus had to admit that he enjoyed the chance to observe the Decepticon without having to avoid lots of weaponry coming at him with killer intent. Earlier, Megatron had endured his attempts at a nice professional level of normality while he applied a coat of protective wax to his hard to reach back plating. He couldn’t help the mixture of contentment and fascination he got from the activity, though he didn’t let his servos wander anywhere inappropriate.

 

The Decepticon leader hadn’t been nearly so flinchy about it this time, for which Optimus was extremely grateful. He also hadn’t really relaxed as much, which was something of a setback, but for all his badaft posturing, the mech had been through a lot in the days leading up to last night, and there were few things more relaxing than a nice hot cleansing after being beaten up and thrown in jail, not to mention hacked and…well. Spark raped.

 

He still couldn’t quite wrap his processor around the fact that he, Optimus Prime, who would never, ever even consider forcing anyone to do anything in the berth that they didn’t want to do had actually been a party to such a thing. Orders, yes, but it had been…horrible. Despite the pleasure. 

 

And the worst thing was, a tiny part of him wanted to do it again. Oh, not the rape part, but the spark bonding. It had been amazing. The pleasure still echoed through his struts if he thought about it. He had never gotten to that stage with Sentinel and Elita. Young and foolish as they had all been, at least the tree of them had stuck to purely physical explorations back when they were in the Academy together.

 

Optimus wondered if he would ever be able to have a true spark partner, now that he was bound to Megatron by this mockery of a bond. It was certainly possible to have a group bond, but all the participants had spark share with one another. He couldn’t imagine taking another bot to his berth in such an intimate way and including an unwilling participant, for any reason. 

 

He turned his optics towards their destination, resolutely ignoring the disturbing thought that he might be forever prevented from having a True Bond by the slave code and sparking with his enemy.

 

*****

 

It was an unspeakable relief to fly, when he had been unsure if he would ever do so again. Megatron reveled in the sense of freedom, illusory though he knew it to be. He hadn’t seen Cybertron in thousands of vorns, except for when he had first been captured after Earth, and the inside of a cell, which really did not count.

 

Iacon was beautiful, full of life and color. It reminded him of a time long ago, when they had still been rebuilding after the Quintesson wars, before the civilian populace had turned on the warrior builds.

 

He had worked for a time in civilian professions, first steering building materials up to the tops of towers on antigrav palettes, and later on maintenance for the great floating platforms used to finish the same structures. It hadn’t lasted, of course. He had gone back into the military, and served for eons before the Rebellion. The little Prime would probably be surprised that they had such a prosaic thing in common.

 

They left the city limits sooner than he would have expected. It had been a very long time, of course, but it seemed like the city had been bigger when he had been here last. 

 

They cruised past the outlying industrial sector, and into an area with warehouses, shipyards, and landing pads for transports and freighters. Though they stayed at a reasonable distance from structures and ground, he could zoom his optics onto civilians, turning and pointing at him. He was glad they hadn’t had to walk, or worse, that _he_ hadn’t had to walk behind the transformed Prime. 

 

He had faced the mech in battle, manipulated him with trickery, and created his own brand of copies of the great war machine, but still a tiny part of him shivered in memory as they came within sight of Omega Supreme, folded into his alternate mode and covered by scaffolding and maintenance workers. 

 

For all their vaunted “peaceful” nature, the Autobots had manufactured some damn fine war machines. Even the ones who had clearly been repurposed from their original specifications, like the little Prime. The red, blue and silver mech angled for an area near the warship mech’s boarding ramp. Megatron followed, his programming insisting that he follow his master as ordered.

 

The winged Autobot landed neatly, waving to workers and greeting them with voice and comm., to all appearances unaware that said mechs were eyeing his looming escort with wariness and not-so-subtle touches of panic. These mechs obviously knew the Prime, and he was not so high in the political structure that he felt himself above such common worker mechs.

 

Admittedly, Megatron was pleased by the Autobot workers’ fear. He would have happily killed them all, if it meant his freedom, or his peoples’. Despite that, these were the mechs he envisioned himself ruling, after taking Cybertron. Little would change, here in the shipyards, if the leadership of Cybertron consisted of Decepticons instead of Autobots. The work would be much the same, and Megatron wouldn’t interfere with their functioning. There would be more large, dark chassis among the foremechs and managers, but other than that, he had never had any grand plans to change things here among the skilled workers of the planet.

 

Omega Supreme’s outer blast doors were already open, and the inner portals opened smoothly at their approach. A deep, chassis rattling voice sounded around them. “Greetings Optimus Prime. It is good to see you again. Megatron, I will not listen to your words this time.”

 

They stepped into the great ship, Megatron reluctantly trailing after his new Autobot master.


	7. Meet

“Optimus!” The tiny yellow shape flew towards the mech’s chestplates fast enough to have been an attack, if he hadn’t recognized Isaac Sumdac’s youngling already.  

The Prime caught the onrushing technorganic expertly, and transferred her to his shoulder, where she proceeded to attach herself to his neck. Odd, actually. Most Autobots were either terrified of or revolted by organics. He was reasonably sure it had something to do with encouraging xenophobia and ensuring that the populace didn't import any troublesome concepts from other planets. None of the Autobots present seemed even a little bit bothered by the younger Sumdac situating herself on their leader.

The (surprisingly loud) shriek from the little Earth creature was echoed by two other voices, one far deeper than the other.

“Optimus!” The big green Autobot, the one who acted like a twit but was a genius at space bridges, grinned and swept his leader up in a hug. “We were worried about you!”

The Prime put up with the mech-handling with surprisingly good grace. Megatron wouldn’t have put up with that kind of thing from Lugnut, after all.  On the other hand, this mech was so young, and so earnest that a soft-sparked little fool like the Prime probably wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings.

The annoying little yellow one was a little less effusive, but still obviously delighted to see his leader. Good. It was always worthwhile to observe how any commander treated his subordinates. Particularly the less useful ones. Obviously his new master was not lacking in patience if half of his team consisted of such hyper young mecha.

Apparently they had missed their Prime, too. From the cacophony of noise the three of them were making, it sounded like the medic and the pink courier were much better at being authoritarian than the Prime. The little yellow mech was loudly complaining about being “cooped up” and “not getting to do anything fun.” Really, it was profoundly embarrassing that this motley collection of Elite Guard rejects had lasted more than a few clicks against his Decepticons.

Of course, they had had a couple of Cyberninjas with them at the time, along with Omega Supreme. That was some small comfort to his dignity. Plus Starscream had been repeatedly trying to kill him. It was probably fortunate that the treacherous seeker had not joined forces with the Autobots. His former air commander was not a very good team player.

*****

The little yellow bot turned his optics towards Megatron, the look on his face more than a little hostile.  “You all right, boss-bot?” he asked his Prime. “We heard the news, but I can’t believe anyone would be glitched enough to make you take _him_ home with you.”

Suddenly, he was the focus of three unfriendly sets of optics. It was a good thing they belonged to harmless young Autobots. He still couldn’t believe that a space bridge repair crew had been able to so thoroughly frag up all of his plans. Of course, Starscream, the Allspark, and various humans had also had something to do with that.

The green twit with the space bridge expertise was attempting to loom threateningly. Megatron resisted the urge to yawn. He had killed bigger and more threatening bots before breakfast.

The little prime laid a comforting servo on the green mech’s arm. “I’m perfectly fine, Bulkhead.” He said in a soothing tone of voice. “I may not have agreed with the decision to use the slave programming, but it was orders. Megatron can’t hurt an Autobot now, except in direct self-defense.

“They said he’d be living with you.” The big mech said with a glower.

Oooh, was someone jealous?  Megatron smirked mentally. It was always good to know the chinks in your enemies’ plating.

The green twit was utterly lacking in the grace that the Elite Guard bots all seemed to share. The rest of the Prime’s happy little group were all much more in line with Autobot aesthetics.  (Well, perhaps not the medic).  The silly bridge tech was almost Decepticon in stature, and did not exactly carry it well. Probably self-conscious. He made another little mental note under the “enemies’ psychological weaknesses” file.

“Yuck!” the little human femme said. “That’s just wrong. And what’s with the collar? It looks like a dog collar.”

Megatron would have been more enraged by that if his little master hadn’t looked so entertainingly uncomfortable. Hmmm, should he get a few digs in, or go the stoic route?

Decisions, decisions. Well, perhaps just a _little_ taunting of the dreadful brightly colored younglings.

“Well” he said smoothly, “The council has your Prime here on a fairly short leash, so perhaps they feel that their trained dog should keep one of his own.”   The obnoxious sunshine yellow minibot growled like an angry cyberlion cub. Hmm, this was rather entertaining. Sort of like a human baiting one of those yappy little dogs.

The other two young bots, or rather the other young bot and the bizarre organic-mecha hybrid, were glaring at him.

“Optimus is a global hero!” sputtered the tiny yellow one. “He’s not on anyone’s leash, and he shouldn’t have to be with _you_.” He puffed himself up, probably trying (and failing) to look bigger and more intimidating.  

“Yeah!” said the miniature femme. “He kicked your can in the last battle, and brought the Allspark back here, along with all you Decepti-jerks! They just made him keep you because they know he can beat you!”

The Prime broke in, his voice stern. “That’s enough, Sari. Megatron is going to be a…guest in my home for, ah, quite some time. There is no call to be rude to him.”

“But Optimus!” Megatron is dangerous! And what if the council is really trying to control you! They could have ulterior motives!” The green one broke in. Perhaps he was marginally less naïve than Megatron had thought. Could be life experience finally making a dent.

“Of course, they have a variety of ulterior motives, youngling.” He said smoothly. “Your Prime is in the unenviable position of being the Decepticon faction’s number one enemy, a big shiny target for them and anyone else who might wish to either free me or take the both of us out of the picture. There will be plenty of each, of course. Besides being a _brave_ ; hero, he’s young and pretty and just the perfect little Elite Guard poster-mech. A lot of big fish in the political pond are going to want him eaten before those shiny scales develop into armored plating.”

The doors to the antechamber they were occupying opened near soundlessly. Ah, the medic and the femme. How cute. Autobots and their domesticity. You would think that _someone_ aboard one of the most devastating living weapons from the Great War would have at least some semblance of military bearing, but noooo. This lot needed a sparkling sitter, not a commander.

“Well, at least one of you has a firm grasp on the situation.” Said a crotchety old voice as the medic clomped in. He was followed by the pink intel bot, who appeared to be a lot more armed than when he had seen her last. In fact, those blades looked suspiciously like Ninjabot weapons… and if he wasn’t mistaken, it appeared that the femme was guarding the older mech’s back. How sweet. If they were Decepticons, he would be offering congratulations about now.

Now that he thought about it, the femme had indicated that teaching younglings had been her original function while she was comatose and Shockwave had been working to extract Omega Supreme’s codes from her memory. Given the general maturity level these youngling Autobots tended to display, that was probably ideal. He was glad that no-bot would be insane enough to leave the young mechs with the Evil Decepticon Prisoner of War. He didn’t think his audio sensors would survive if they made him youngling-sit.

“Optimus is right. Megatron may be our enemy, but he’s gonna be by Optimus’s side for a very long time, so you need to play nice.” The red and white mech said. There was a definite implication of “or else” in there somewhere.

“Why, how very kind of you, Autobot.” Megatron purred. “After all, I am your Prime’s captive, made harmless by that accursed programming. Of course, my Decepticons have long known how to deal with slave masters. Besides them and your corrupt, sniveling council, he may find that he doesn’t have long at all.”

The Prime stiffened, but schooled his face-plates into a neutral expression with what looked like effort. Point scored.

Hmm. Perhaps instead of simply amusing himself, he could plant some actual seeds of doubt. “Your Councilors are masters of manipulation” he continued. They will use you and discard you when you no longer suit their needs. My Decepticons, on the other servo…”

Unfortunately, he was interrupted by a shrieking techo-organic brat. “Shut up! Just shut up! You’re the one trying to manipulate us! You attacked us! You kidnapped my dad, and almost got him killed. You and those stupid giant Lugnut clones trashed half of Detroit, and killed lots of people!”

 ****  
He was prepared for the anger. He wasn’t prepared for the tiny, breakable looking half-human to blast him halfway through the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I have trouble writing Bee, Bulkhead and Sari. Not sure why that is, when Megatron, Optimus and Ratchet come through loud and clear in my head.


	8. Group Dynamics

 

Megatron woke to pain. According to his chrono, he had only been out for nanosecs, but he was still impressed. He had certainly had worse, he had definitely never had worse at the hands of an organic smaller than his servo.

 

Of course, by the time he had processed all this, his combat programming had already pried him out of the wall, rolled him to his stabilizers and sent him into a fighting stance. He was reaching for non-existent weapons and trying to pinpoint the threat when a commanding voice was ordering him to stand down.

 

To his momentary surprise, he actually did so, then remembered why and nearly snarled aloud. Frag, he hated the slave coding with every wire and neurofiber he possessed.

 

“Megatron, are you severely damaged?” The young Prime asked. He hadn’t drawn his own weapon, but was obviously more than ready for trouble. He made a quickly aborted motion, as if to run his servos over Megatron’s scorched chest plating. Were all Autobots this touchy-feely, or had he just gotten lucky?

 

“I have most assuredly had worse.” He answered. “I admit to being somewhat impressed at the child Sumdac’s power. Perhaps I underestimated your little crew’s abilities.”

 

“You always did, didn’t you?” The Prime said, his voice cold. Apparently he was not amused. Oh well. He could certainly handle a beating from his master for taunting his troops. The mech was protective of the young bots, and probably didn’t like Megatron fragging them off enough to damage Omega Supreme.

 

Speaking of whom…The medic was inspecting the damage to the walls, and practically petting the living plating. “Sari!” He yelled. “You can’t just let your power go like that! You could have really hurt Omega!”

 

How…sweet. An Autobot field tech and his pet war machine.

 

“Besides, you can’t just blast mechs for talkin’, even if they’re evil Decepticon jerks who clearly have mulch in their processor cores.”

 

…Stupid Autoscum.

 

“Sari, I am Very Disappointed in you.” Said the Prime. “You cannot abuse the power the Allspark gave you in such a manner. You just attacked an unarmed mech and damaged a friend and ally.”

 

“But Optimus!”

 

“No buts, Sari. I want you to go to your room and think about what you just did, and I expect you to apologize to both Megatron and Omega tomorrow.”

 

“Yes, Optimus.” The child said, her shoulders slumping. “I’m really sorry, Omega. I forgot you could get hurt, too.”

 

“I forgive you, Sari.” The deep voice rumbled out of nowhere. “But you should not attack captured opponents. It is a very un-Autobot thing to do.”

 

“Yes Omega, I’m sorry.” The human(ish) child said. Then, to his shock, she turned towards Megatron and apologized to him as well! “I’m sorry I blasted you. You’re an evil jerk, but you’re Optimus’s evil jerk, and I shouldn’t have hurt you.” Then the little techno organic spread her winglets and sped down the hallway, dwarfed by its Cybertronian dimensions.

 

Megaton was distracted from the little melodrama by the Prime, who was looking at him with far more concern than was logical. The two of them had slagged each other halfway to the Pit only a short time ago, after all. The medic paused his ministrations and ordered them to the ship’s medbay, grumbling about half-clocked idiots.

 

*****

 

Optimus felt a processor ache developing. He hadn’t exactly expected his team to welcome Megatron with open arms, but he had assumed that no one would break out the heavy firepower until at least the second meeting.

 

At least the Decepticon had obeyed his order to stand down. And Sari hadn’t lost control of her power and created massive destruction. And neither Bulkhead nor Bumblebee had done anything too embarrassing, though Bulkhead had acted like Optimus was a young bot who had brought an unsuitable and delinquent suitor home to meet his mentors.

 

It could have been worse, he supposed. Omega was fine, Sari had apologized, and Megatron had actually seemed mildly impressed. He hadn’t even taunted any of them for the last few breems.

 

Optimus was towing his big, spiky, scary charge down the corridor by the arm, determined to prevent any more damage to anyone he was responsible for. They just had to make it to Omega Supreme’s small, multipurpose med bay without further incident, and he’d consider it a win. Well, perhaps he wouldn’t tempt fate that much. Megatron and Ratchet were about to be in a small room together, after all. Plus, they were onboard a mech who was clearly (and understandably) holding a grudge against the Decepticon warlord.

 

It was always odd to think that they had lived for so long on this ship, traveling from one Space Bridge installation to another, doing maintenance and removing debris without anyone but Ratchet knowing that their vehicle was an unconscious sentient.

 

Megatron’s arm cabling flexed, and Optimus abruptly noticed how the gunmetal grey armor under his servos was warm and alive with a powerful energy field. He flushed and let go quickly, like the Decepticon’s touch had burned him. The big mech gave him an odd look for his pains.

 

He gave his charge a rather curt order to sit on the medical berth and eyed the damage critically. He was no Ratchet, but he did know basic first aid. It looked mostly superficial, but the big mech had been very still for a moment there after Sari’s blast. He’d wait until the real medic arrived before relaxing completely.

 

*****

 

Ratchet completed his scans, using his own inbuilt diagnostics and the medbay’s equipment. The Con needed an overhaul, various joints realigned, a few minor components replaced, and a complete repaint.

 

At least his spark wasn’t showing any more distress than could be expected.  He would have to corner Optimus and ask him how his end of the bond felt. Naturally he would wait until Megatron wasn’t in the room. Even Ratchet wasn’t _that_ tactless.

 

Given Optimus’s slightly guilty look, he was willing to bet he hadn’t recharged next to the Decepticon last night. He hadn’t actually expected the two of them to comply with that particular medical directive just yet. He wouldn’t want to be unaware in Megatron’s presence, either. Besides, he knew his young leader well enough to guess that Optimus was feeling extremely guilty about the slave bonding, and having forced himself on another mech. That was going to take some time for the two of them to get over. Ideally, Megatron would either forgive Prime, or jump his struts.

 

From the look of the two of them, the strut-jumping part was inevitable. The tension between them had always been noticeable, and they were in a spark-level bond, for all that it wasn’t a True Bond.

 

Ratchet might be old, but he wasn’t blind or stupid. Optimus was gorgeous, kind and brave. Everything that Megatron’s previous master hadn’t been, from what he’d gathered. Oh, the mech had been physically attractive, but it only took a little digging to make it abundantly clear that he had been a piece of worthless pitslag. The thought of someone like that with another sentient being as a slave made him want to purge his tanks.

 

He finished recalibrating the large spiky knee joint he had been working on, and told the mech attached to it to try it out. Megatron did so. He wasn’t showing nearly as much aggression as he had yesterday. He also wasn’t bitching about getting orders from a piece of Autobot scum. Optimus was leaning against one wall of the tiny, cramped medical bay in case he had to give the Con an order to be cooperative, but it hadn’t been necessary. Huh, the Decepticon Leader was a good patient.

 

“My thanks, medic.” The dark, sinister voice said.

 

Ratchet’s lower mandible nearly hit the deck plates. Now that was unexpected. “You’re uh, welcome.” He answered. The fagging Decepticon war machine was more gracious about getting medical care than his own team.

 

Huh.

 

*****

 

Megatron had been left alone in a small room aboard Omega Supreme that looked like it had been the crew’s recreation area. There were far more personal touches about the interior of the great ship than were evident in the little Prime’s quarters, he noticed.

 

Of course, the Autobot team had been a Space Bridge maintenance and repair crew, and had undoubtedly spent far more time here on the living ship than on Cybertron. There were more than a few traces of Earth, as well. Next to the wall-mounted vid screen was a semblance of an organic tree, carefully crafted out of wire and tiny crystalline stones. It was a very un-Elite Guard object for such a ship.

 

He wandered over to inspect it.

 

“It belonged to Prowl.” Said the deep voice of Omega Supreme. “He made it out of scraps of wire and bits of quartzite. He did not think that an actual organic plant could travel safely to Cybertron.”

 

“The cyberninja? I always wondered how he came to be with this crew.” Megatron said. It could only be worthwhile to learn about these bots. “It seems an unlikely station for one of the legendary Yoketron’s star pupils.”

 

“I was not conscious at the time, but my records show that my crew discovered Prowl as he meditated on a dwarf planet, near a bridge that required maintenance” said the living ship.

 

“Probably one of the Cyberninja’s quaint customs.” Megatron murmured. “Yoketron was always eccentric, and he passed such things on to his students. I have a few of them among my Decepticons. A shame he did not survive. He was a worthy warrior, for an Autobot.”

 

“Autobots can be warriors.” The ship said. “Some of us are even built so.”

 

“So you are content, to have been created as a war machine, meant to rain destruction down upon the Autobots’ enemies?” Asked Megatron. He was actually interested in the answer. A few of his contemporaries had actually managed to successfully integrate into Autobot society, once upon a time. He had always wondered how they had accomplished such a thing, when so many of his kind had been unable to master civilian life.

 

“I understand now that I was very lucky to have Ratchet as a friend, when I first came online.” The ship said, his tone thoughtful. “I may wish to have been sparked into a normal mech shell, on occasion, and I definitely wish to know what existence in peacetime is like, but I enjoy traveling among the stars, and having my friends in my care. I am honored to be a protector, and not simply a weapon.”

 

His little information-gathering mission was interrupted when the Prime arrived to collect him, and herded him to the washracks. The medic had replaced a few parts, reconnected a few wires and conduits, which only left his plating. He probably needed a full repaint to look truly presentable, but he rather doubted that the Autobots wanted to spend today waiting for coats of primer and enamel to dry.

 

Well, he had experienced worse fates than those surprisingly gentle servos rubbing cleanser into his scorched plating.

 

*****

 

For the second time in as many days, he was sharing a washrack with his enemy, and finding it a struggle to stay appropriate about it. Optimus was trying not to obviously let his servos linger on Megatron’s scarred plating. He was glad the Decepticon leader wasn’t so tense this time. It had made him feel guilty, like he was molesting his captive, instead of caring for his injuries.

 

They were both slick with condensation from the steam, the hot cleanser raining down on them as they awkwardly maneuvered in the cramped space. It was much smaller than the cleansing facility in Optimus’s apartment, and he couldn’t help but notice the intimacy of their EM fields twining together in the small chamber.

 

Megatron really needed a full repaint. He would have to use the facility at Elite headquarters, because no way was he strolling into some civilian beautician and bodywork shop with the fragging lord of the Decepticons in tow. They’d probably give somebot a spark attack.

 

He was really angry with Sari for attacking the mech. She knew better than that, even if she was just a child still. She had far too much power to be acting like an impulsive sparkling.  It was dangerous, both to her and everyone around her.

 

They weren’t keeping her powers secret, precisely, but they weren’t trumpeting them or her techno-organic nature to the planet, either. It just didn’t seem…wise.

 

Optimus scrubbed gently at the singed chest plating. He was perfectly aware that his Decepticon could do this himself, but frankly he wanted to make a point. The fragger was part of their unit now, and he was going to have to get used to them. He did not need to have Megatron taking verbal stabs at his teammates whenever he encountered them, and figured a good first step was to get him used to being close to Autobots in a non-trying-to-destroy-one-another sort of way. It was…desensitization.

 

The fact that he was also kind of enjoying it was immaterial.

 

Optics the color of a dying star stared down at him in irritation. “So concerned about my well-being, _master_?” He asked sardonically. “Afraid that the Council will punish you for breaking your new toy?”

 

Optimus barely held in a sigh. Irritating old rust-bucket. “We both know you’re tougher than that, Megatron. You can take a hit from the Magnus Hammer, you’ll shrug off a blast from Sari too. That doesn’t mean you don’t need maintenance. The Council decided to place you in my care, I’m not going to do a half-aft job of it. You’re getting repaired, cleaned and detailed, and you’re just going to have to get used to having filthy Autobot servos on your chassis. Deal with it.”

 

“A fate worse than deactivation, I am sure.” Was the sardonic reply.

 

*****

 

_I keep writing shower scenes. They keep being… two mechs getting clean. I am a failure at writing for the kink meme._


	9. Cleansing

Blue servos smoothed wax into battered grey and maroon plating.  The owner of the plating in question had to admit (in the privacy of his own processor) that it was wonderfully soothing. He felt like a pit cat who was getting its pelt burnished.

 

He would be damned if he was going to start purring for his master, though. He still had his pride, battered though it was.

 

His armor was battered, too, but his new owner (and how it burned to refer to any living thing by that title!) seemed determined to make it shine regardless. He obviously did not shy away from hard work, but that was no surprise. The ragtag little bunch of Autobots who he had encountered as they fled with the Allspark so long ago were civilian workers, not nobles or even Guardmechs. Those hands were skilled at their current manual task.

 

It felt so good, the pressure just right, almost like the touch of a comrade or even a lover, not a slave master.

 

Was the little mech…humming?

 

Megatron cracked a scarlet optic open to peer at the little Prime. He <i>was</i>. So the prudish little Autobot was enjoying these little interludes of theirs.

 

That pleased him _far_ more than it should.

 

Besides the worrying fact that he was glad that the younger mech did not actually find him repulsive, it might be of strategic value. It was easier to manipulate bots if they wanted to frag you, sometimes.

 

Speaking of…he let his optics slide to a sensor discretely tucked into a corner of the washrack. He had taken over Omega Supreme’s processor, once upon a time. He was more aware of the war machine’s weaknesses than his captors might wish.

 

He settled back into keeping a wary watch over the mech who controlled his fate at the moment, waiting for signs of danger. Just because his body was relaxed, that didn’t mean his processor was in a similar state.

 

*****

 

The young Prime’s touch stayed gentle.

 

Megatron refused to drop his guard. It had only been a little while, after all, and he had not yet seen the mech who was now his master in a bad mood, or when he had been thwarted in an ambition or beaten in a contest of any sort.

 

If the blue and red Autobot came home in a towering rage one day and still didn’t take it out on his slave’s chassis, then Megatron might truly begin to relax when they were alone together, but until that test by fire, he would not assume that it would always be like this.

 

Pleasant though it was.

 

The really sad thing was, he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had pampered him like this, when it wasn’t a transparent ploy for political or monetary favor of some sort. There had been Starscream, of course, but he would as soon trust a Pit Viper as turn his back on that treacherous Seeker. Literally or figuratively.

 

There had been lovely, skilled, highly sought after courtesans, carefully vetted by his intelligence team. There had been various Decepticons, eager to display their skill or their loyalty to their lord. There had been Shockwave, who truly adored him, but was still his subordinate, and far too aware of the fact.

 

He hoped Shockwave was all right. His loyal soldier deserved better than humiliation at Autobot servos. He fervently hoped that his spy escaped his imprisonment, of failing that, died cleanly. A less ideal but not completely dire situation would be if the Prime’s medic or the young green mech became his master. Of all the Autobots Megatron knew, the medic seemed the most trustworthy, and Shockwave could easily manipulate a gentle fool like the Space Bridge technician.

 

Megatron was distracted from his dark thoughts (again) by the skilled servos on his armor. He stifled a moan of bliss when his Autobot gently delved beneath the overlapping plates at the base of his helm.

 

It was divine.

 

Were he easily swayed, this would be the way to tame him. Soft touches alternated with firm strokes, chasing away pain and tension. It was so good, it could only be a trap. His enemy trying to lure him into complacency. Clever little Prime. Obviously he had underestimated the mech yet again. Nevertheless, he would win this game, like he had won so many others. No matter the cost.

 

When he had been a youngster like the Prime, and the rulers of the day had betrayed his kind by activating the slave programming and giving the “problem” war builds to their political allies as favors, he would have likely yielded to the temptation of his master’s gentle manipulation. Now, though, he was old, cunning, schooled in the myriad arts of deception and treachery that only an experienced leader would have truly mastered. It would take more than caring touches and such seductions to win his loyalty.

 

Which was not to say that he wouldn’t frag the mech, of course. It might gain him an advantage, and judging from his current situation, it would hardly be a chore.

 

*****

 

Optimus slipped out of the cleansing facility, having left Megatron there to finish his own detailing. Optimus was not brave enough to wax certain…areas on the Decepticon, for all his bold words earlier. It just felt too much like molestation to sit well with him.

He would privately admit that he might have been stalling, as he meticulously shined Megatron’s damaged armor. The Decepticon was going to need a repaint anyway, so buffing him to a glossy finish was a probably a little over the top. He really had not been looking forward to this little talk with his medic, and dawdling with wax and cleanser was a way to delay. He really hoped he wasn’t going to need a spark exam. He still didn’t feel right that his first time spark to spark with another was done with an unwilling partner (With Megatron!) and he was frankly feeling a little skittish about opening his chest plates again, even if it was just for medical scans.

They were back in Omega’s tiny med bay. Ratched had requested that the shipformer keep an optic on their “guest”, and give them privacy for a personal medical discussion.

"I'm going to do a set of basic scans on you, to compare with your base readings from before the bond." The medic said, gesturing toward one of the med berths. There were only two, and they were adjustable for different frame types. The extra was currently folded against a wall, equipment tucked neatly away.

Optimus obediently reclined, and endured a blessedly brief round of poking, prodding, and scans done with both Ratchet's own on-frame diagnostics and the more robust equipment of the bay. He did have to open his plating, but only a crack, so that his spark energy could be examined without the barrier of his armor in the way. He endured it without fuss, since it was just Ratchet after all, and he trusted the grumpy old mech.

It was much less awful than he had been expecting, but Optimus was still glad when it was over. Ratchet handed him a miniature cube of high grade. It wasn't enough to impair him flying home, but it would probably help smooth the edges off his anxiety for their conversation. Optimus mentally compared it to the Earthen sweets on sticks that human healers gave to fretful younglings after medical treatment.

"You seem fine. Any pain from your spark?" Ratchet asked.

"I feel fine. I don't like any of this, but there's nothing wrong with my spark or frame. Just my living situation."

Ratchet quirked an optical ridge at him. “And”? He inquired.

“And what, Ratch?” Optimus asked. 

There was a disgusted sounding sigh. “How is it really going? Have the two of you been fighting? Arguing? Engaging in tension filled, stressful silences? Sleeping near each other? Fragging like petrorabbits during a lunar eclipse?” 

Optimus choked on his high grade.

“Ratch!” His vocalizer practically squeaked.

 

*****

 

“Well?” The old mech demanded.  I doubt the two of you have been playing sedate games of Helexian Checkers, so something must be going on. “How bad is it? He being emotionally abusive? Trying to manipulate you?

 

Optimus squirmed.

 

“Uh, I’d say he’s waiting for me to hurt him. I mean, I think that’s what it is.” He said softly. His voice was almost a whisper. He remembered the rage over their bond last cycle. “I showed him to the master berthroom last night. It’s the only one that’s really big enough, and I don’t mind a different room. They’re all nicer than most anything I’ve recharged on in well, ever.” He fiddled with the cube he held. “He was so angry, and I think maybe frightened, though he didn’t show it…”

 

“You could feel it over the bond?” Ratchet asked.

 

Optimus nodded. “Yeah, it was…really intense.” He shivered slightly at the memory and nearly whispered his next words. “I think he thought I was gonna rape him, Ratch. Again. Like when they made me seal the slave bond.”

 

Ratchet reached over and awkwardly patted his arm with a worn servo. “Then what happened?” he asked.

 

“Well, I left him alone, but I couldn’t drop into defrag, so I stayed up for a while, and he calmed down and I think went to sleep, and this morning he was mostly just grumpy and stoic, until we got here.”

 

The old medic nodded, and Optimus thought he seemed pleased. “Better than I might have expected, then.” He said. “It ain’t gonna be easy, Prime. If you can win that mech’s loyalty, or even just make peace with him, you get a major power as an ally. Don’t let him lead you around by the bond, but don’t ignore it, either. Right now, he sees you as nothing but an enemy, and his master, which is the worst thing any bot could be. Show him different.”

 

“How am I supposed to do _that_? asked Optimus.

 

“Darned if I know, Prime. But you’ve surprised us all before, and I have faith that you’ll do it again. Treat him like you would a giant predator that lives in your apartment, is old, ferocious, and cunning, but can’t hurt you and has to protect you against external threats. Like an ancient evil version of Prowl. You won _him_ over, you should be able to make some headway with Megatron.”

 

*****

 

That fragging wreck of an Autobot war machine was watching him again.

 

It might be all kinds of petty, and possibly foolish as well, but Megatron was grumpy and frustrated enough to needle the giant mech some more.

 

He took his time, buffing the plating between his legs. It and his face were the only areas that the Autobot Prime hadn’t touched. He still wasn’t quite sure what to make of the younger mech’s reticence.

 

“So, Omega Supreme” he purred. “Have the Autobots been treating you well, now that you’re back from the scrap yard? Are you receiving a hero’s welcome like the others? Adoring fans and rewards?”

 

For a time, Megatron thought he was being ignored. He waited. Eventually though, the mech answered, the deep, deep voice of the living ship vibrating through the soles of his stabilizers.  

 

“You seek to turn me against the Autobot cause, Megatron?” He asked. “Make me doubt my friends, and their superiors? Ultra Magnus himself commanded that I receive the highest priority of repairs and maintenance. He did it from his damage bay berth in Iacon Central Hospital. Ratchet and Arcee have been with me almost the whole time, and Bulkhead, Bumblebee and Sari almost as much. I have not been spurned or abandoned. I was not abandoned before, when I was little more than a lifeless shell. Ratchet stayed with me. For eons.”

 

Well. That was actually going to be difficult to argue with. Megatron tried another tack. “But do they truly consider you one of them?” he asked smoothly. “Or are you merely a useful tool?

 

“Perhaps that is all I am to Autobot high command, but Ratchet and Arcee and the others are my friends.” The ship replied. His tone was final.

 

Ah, his friends. There was an angle Megatron might make use of. “And of course, that is all they are to you?” He murmured. There was a weakness there, he was sure of it.

 

“What else would they be?” Came the reply.

 

“I have known other sparked ships.” He said coolly. “I am perfectly well aware what voyeurs you all are. I could practically hear you revving when that medic’s hands were in my internals. You were watching while the lovely Prime was so caringly covering my plating in wax, and rubbing me to a high shine. Do you switch your onboard cameras to infra-red in the medic’s room at night, so you can watch him and his femme? Do you long to reach out with your internal servos and take them both?”

 

“I…would never attempt to do anything that Ratchet and Arcee do not desire.” The deep voice said. He could hear the distressed note in it. “I am an Autobot. I was created to protect.’

 

“You were created to destroy.” He said. “And we both know it all too well.”

 

“You Decepticons were named correctly.” Said the strut-rumbling voice all around him. “I will not listen you anymore.”

 

He was left alone then, to await his master’s return. None of his gambits lured the warship back into conversation.

 

*****

_So, TFA Megatron is kind of sympathetic in a lot of ways, but he’s still one mean, manipulative son of a gun. Also, he doesn’t value the lives of people who aren’t “his” the way Optimus and his team do._


	10. Networking

Kind of a bridge chapter here, so not a lot of action. Sorry about that, but the characters insisted. Damn Autobot do-gooders.

 

*******  
  
**

Bulkhead, Bumblebee and Sari all hugged him goodbye. Optimus could tell they were worried about him, and he couldn't really blame them. Being left alone with Megatron was still pretty intimidating, and now he also felt like he had a giant target painted on his back. Perhaps with a nice caption: 'Free your warlord, offline the Prime.'

On the other hand, Megatron would theoretically be driven to throw himself between danger and Optimus, so they weren't terribly likely to be targeted by something like a missile, and it would be hard to get a really accurate long-range assassination weapon with pinpoint sighting inside city limits. Well, something that could get though his armor, anyway. He hoped.

Of course, the Decepticons weren't his only worry.

There was also the press.

Optimus and Megatron stepped out Omega Supreme's main hatch and into a flood of light and a lot of accompanying noise, as what appeared to be several hundred reporters, fans, and random busybodies shouted questions at them.

The expression on the big Decepticon's faceplates was dangerous.

Right, two goals: get Megatron out of the crowd without any of the reporters or bystanders getting slagged, and distract said reporters from whatever lurid fantasies were apparently churning up the popular imagination when it came to the two of them.

Optimus had watched enough Earth television to have some idea of how to handle this, fortunately. He managed to smile at the gawkers, tell them that he had a great deal of confidence in Ultra Magnus, the council, and the combined wisdom of their decisions, and that no, he didn't have any other comments right now.

One slightly built bot in a brilliant shade of magenta shoved a camera mod in Optimus's face and shouted a question "Is it true that you got an Academy classmate killed while looking for a shipwreck?"

There were so many possible answers to that, but he didn't think that "no comment" was the best response in this case.

"No." Optimus said simply.

"No? No  what ?" Optimus didn't reply. "Wait, you can't leave it at that!" squeaked the newsbot. He had the predatory gleam of a professional gossip stalking a possible Big Scoop in his optics.

"I can't provide you with any details about that at this time." Optimus said. "However, while I was on Earth, I met a femme who previously went by the designation Elita One. She is very different now, but not deactivated."

The newsbot looked like Sari at Christmas, when she was presented with a large brightly wrapped box. There. It should give them something to focus on besides him and Megatron. Elita, or rather Black Arachnia could handle herself, and he wasn't at all sure anymore that he should have taken the fall for Sentinel back when it had happened. The guilt wasn't his alone, after all.

Giving Megatron a terse command to "follow me, and don't engage the crowd" Optimus managed to make it to the designated launch pad. This was in part due to several of the maintenance bots working on Omega giving them an escort, though they looked frightened of Megatron.

Which was not anything anybot could possibly blame them for.

He gave the foremech, a decent old sort named Patchjob a grateful smile and a nod, and launched, Megatron following him a sparkbeat later.

*********

 

Megatron had to admit that the little Prime had bearings. And a certain strategic ability.

He was a celebrity now, and the press would be trolling his background for dirt. He had just taken control of the narrative with a brief but intriguing statement. It would have the added benefit of encouraging reporters to look into what had gone on back on Earth, which could only reflect well on the Prime's team. After all, a ragged little group of Academy dregs and a couple of broken down veterans had held off Megatron and several of his lieutenants, plus a host of hostile alien menaces.

It wasn't like the bridge repair team had had a lot of useful backup from Cybertron, after all. The Autobot forces had been spread thin at the time, as his own troops harried them and attacked space bridge facilities all over the quadrant, but surely it would have been prudent to send a few heavy-hitters to the little blue planet, given that Megatron himself was there. Not to mention the Allspark.

Perhaps someone in the Elite Guard had been trying to get rid of the little tricolored Prime? Disposing of someone by sending them against the leaders of the Decepticons would normally be quite an effective method. He would have thought it was Shockwave’s doing, but his operative actually hadn’t been responsible for that. 

There had been times back on Earth when he would have ended the little Prime if he could. Of course, given his long and frustrating incarceration in Sumdac's lab, he had contemplated other uses for the Autobot as well. Megatron distained rape, but he was an accomplished seducer, and an Autobot Prime would have been a fine prize.

They flew through the darkening skies as lights bloomed below them in the suburbs of Iacon. Megatron enjoyed the journey, and was definitely in no hurry to return to the Prime's home.

He hoped that this sort of travel would be a regular thing. It gave him an illusion of freedom for all that he was bound to serve his enemy. He glanced sidelong at the mech in question. They had been earnestly trying to offline one another a short time ago, and now they flew together like old wingmates. There was probably a lesson in that somewhere, if only one about the Universe's perverse sense of humor. It was looking more and more like he was going to be stuck with the little pest for the foreseeable future, and even if the bathtime interludes were nice, it was most emphatically not a good thing.

He hoped that his chosen successor had successfully taken control of his army. He always had a contingency plan, though he had always assumed that if his general were in command, it would be because he was dead. This situation made things much more complicated.

If only he could come up with a way to contact his commanders. He wanted to know what was going on, and all he was gleaning from the ridiculous Autobot press was a lot of silly noise about himself and the Prime. And that egocentric moron with the chin. Apparently the big blue Prime was some kind of rival to his own Prime. There was no comparison. What on Cybertron had Ultra Magnus been thinking? Unless the one with the chin was interfacing his way to the top? He recalled Ultra having better taste than that before.

If only Shockwave was free. He was not the only undercover agent here, but he had been the highest placed in the Guard.

His Decepticons would make contact with him at some point. His general was very loyal, after all. It would be difficult, but not impossible.

*****

The next day, Optimus planned to take his Decepticon guest for a new paintjob. He'd have Ratchet continue to do Megatron's maintenance, but the medic didn't really do much with finish.

They arrived at the small facility where Optimus and his friends had once gotten their Academy detailing and finishes done. He had called ahead to warn the crew here, since he didn't want to cause a panic, and they had (somewhat reluctantly) agreed. Not that they could do much else. They were an Elite Guard facility, and he was a Prime.

They were met by a very nervous mech who stared at Megatron like he was going to start laying waste to the place at any moment. The poor bot was actually wringing his servos with anxiety.

Opimus dialed up the soothing, reassuring tone of voice that he used to use around fearful humans. It had worked on worried municipal employees of the city of Detroit, and it worked now on Pigments and his crew.

"I'll be right here with you the whole time." He said to the mech. "Megatron, you will cooperate with any reasonable request from Pigments and the other workers here. You will not harm any of them."

The last order was mostly for show, since he had given Megatron standing orders about not hurting Autobots, but he wanted the mechs here to hear it too.

The Decepticon gave him a slightly dirty look but responded "Yes,  Master."

Well, at least it worked. The warlord submitted to having his paint completely stripped, and then a primer application. Optimus had brought datapads to read while the coating dried, and offered his companion a selection. He got a put-upon sigh for his troubles, but Megatron selected one and immediately called up the news. Optimus propped the device up where he could see it and scroll through the display with shortwave commands.

After a while, the workmechs collected Megatron for his paint application, coating him in rich shades of gray, maroon and black. The Decepticon symbols were only raised impressions right now, but as the color nanites were colonized by their bearer's native cyberflora, the purple design would reappear.

When the paint was dry, there was a brisk, professional application of Guard standard resin polish. Megtron looked like the high ranked, formidable war leader that he was, sleek and dangerous. The glossy perfection of the paint job emphasized his sinister good looks. Optimus told himself sternly that it was merely practical. The public (and any watchful Decepticon spies) would need to see that his…slave was being well cared for.

Fraggit.

Their flight back was pleasantly interrupted by Jetfire and Jetstorm, who were back on planet for a bit.

"Mister Optimus Prime, Sir! And Evil Decepticon Leader, Sir! We are being happy to see you!" Said Jetstorm. They circled the two other fliers, and were shamelessly ogling Optimus and his Decepticon companion.

Optimus couldn't blame them. After all, not so long ago  he would have been just as eager to get a good look at someone like Megatron, and at the winged jetpack that he himself was wearing. Apparently, attempts at reproducing the equipment kept hitting snags.

He snuck a glance at Megatron, to see if he was angry at the interruption, but the Decepticon didn't act like he minded. In fact, he looked mildly appreciative. It was probably the jet twins' maneuverability. Or their calling him "Sir". He knew how much Megatron hated being subservient to anyone, especially an Autobot.

Obviously the way to this mech’s good regard was through his ego.

"Jetfire, Jetstorm, it is good to see you" Optimus said. "Why don't you fly with us? It would be nice to have the company."

He could see the two young fliers' delight at the invitation. They practically wriggled with enthusiasm. The sleek jetformers practically flitted around Optimus and Megatron, far more maneuverable in their alt modes than anyone could be in root mode. Particularly if one was in fact a truckbot who had been built with the expectation that he would keep his stabilizers and tires on the ground like a sensible Autobot.

It was fun to watch the twins fly. He was a little envious of their natural skill in their element, but he was mostly just glad that he could take to the air at all.

When they landed on the balcony at home, Optimus was reminded that Jetfire and Jetstorm were actually a little taller than him, making him the smallest bot in the group. It honestly felt very weird, as he was a large mech by Autobot standards, and of this team, only Bulkhead was bigger. (Unless you counted Omega Supreme, but he was really a category of his own).

He invited the twins inside, and retrieved four cubes.

It was a fun evening. The twins caught Optimus up on all the latest gossip in the Elite Guard, and even Megatron seemed to relax. No one could be alarmed by Jetfire and Jetstorm, at least when they weren't in combat mode. The two fliers were just so…cute. Like Bumblebee without quite so much attitude.

At some point, when they had reached a mild buzz of over-energization, Megatron unbent enough to tell a brief story about a very young Starscream. It involved a Quintesson scout ship, an asteroid belt, and a holding tank full of bioreactive algae. Optimus laughed so hard his high grade nearly came out his vents.

It was…nice. The bond felt warm and solid, and not intrusive or angry, just…there. Megatron had  finally relaxed in his home, and it was enjoyable to visit with the jet twins.

They ended up sleeping on his couch, since Optimus didn’t want to wake them up to move them. Megatron retired to the master suite and Optimus to one of the secondary bedrooms, a smile on his face plates. It had been a good day. Maybe he could make this work after all.

 

*******  
**

 

The red optics watching from the top of a distant building narrowed in angry suspicion when the four mechs landed on the elegant balcony. The mech they belonged to focused in on the interior visible from the rooftop. Their orders were to observe, and to make contact if possible, but not to engage the enemy.

Their other two frames were elsewhere on the planet, but their quantum bond allowed the small gestalt to communicate in real time. Viewfinder was assigned to their captured lord tonight. There were other agents on planet, of course, but this was the most important assignment, to see if it was safe to free their leader from bondage. If not, well, there were other steps that could be taken, but they were not so clean and neat as removing the troublesome Prime.

He could not believe that even the Autobots would sink so low as to use the slave coding again. They should have learned their lesson the last time. Fools.

If Ultra Magnus had been in command, this would not have happened. Of course, Megatron would probably be deactivated now, but at least the slave code wouldn't be in use.

The biggest worry was that the Autobot Council might have chosen a spark-compatible  mech as Megatron’s master. It would not do to cripple their lord by assassinating his bonded, after all. It would be even worse if the Autobot was so decent that the warlord was actually  fond of him. Nothing cemented a bond like an emotional connection.

Reflector watched the little group through the glassteel doors of the balcony, and worried. They weren't harming their prisoner, and he did not seem annoyed at them, which was a bad sign. They wanted Megatron free, and if the fragging Autobots had actually picked a kind mech who was a good match for him, it would be far more difficult to reach that objective.

Difficult, but by no means impossible.

****  
  



	11. Rivals

 

*****

Despite officially being on leave, Optimus and his new guard (he refused to refer to Megatron as his slave) reported to Ultra Magnus's suite immediately upon being summoned. It had been several days since their visit to Omega Supreme, and his team had been taking turns coming to visit. He wasn't used to having nothing constructive to do, so he hoped Ultra Magnus might have a real assignment for him.

Besides, a part of him was still waiting for Megatron to try to messily offline him, overthrow the Autobot government of Cybertron, and wreak terrible energon soaked vengeance. In a message, Professor Sumdac has said that it was "like having Genghis Khan as your butler", whatever _that_ meant.

Having the hulking war-built Decepticon at his back still made Optimus feel more than a little twitchy, as did the reactions of the mechs and femmes they passed on the street. You'd think they had never seen a Decepticon before.

Well, to be fair, seeing a mech on the vids was a very different proposition than being loomed over in person. Especially when the loomer was a scowling, red-opticed death machine who looked like he'd be much happier ripping the onlookers’ sparks out than passing them by peaceably.

He wished Megatron wasn't actually behind him, though. Supposedly that was the default "following your master around" orientation, but it creeped him out and made the Decepticon angry. Well, angrier anyway.

It was about the way things looked to the public, in the end. Optimus _had_ to be seen as in control of the violent, terrifying Decepticon to reassure the populace. Otherwise, the Council might change their minds and decide to execute the mech in a big shiny public display, and Optimus really did not want to know what would happen with their spark bond if that happened. And…it would be a terrible waste.

So he was stuck with having his greatest foe literally at his back. He supposed he would get used to it…eventually. If nothing else, it was convenient in that pedestrian traffic parted before them as mechs scrambled to be out of his and Megatron's path. Of course, then they all stood around and gawked. That part had been occurring ever since he and his team had returned to Cybertron as heroes, though, so he was almost accustomed.

At the moment, they were on their way to the Citadel, where Ultra Magnus was still recovering. Fliers were banned from the airspace around it for security reasons, so they were walking. It was too bad Megatron couldn't turn into a ground vehicle, but of course, triple changers tended to be insane, so it was probably just as well.

Optimus checked in at the lobby desk, and acquired magnetic security badges for both of them. It was a formality, of course, since at this point practically everyone on Cybertron knew him on sight, but rules were rules, at least in cases like this. No reason to make the guardbots more nervous than they already were.

He strode down the hallways trying to look like he belonged there. He was striving to appear approachable, responsible, and like the sort of mech who ought to be trusted with leadership positions and a fearsome living war machine. No one had jumped out and shouted "fraud!" yet, so hopefully it was convincing.

Optimus returned the salutes of the Magnus's guards as he entered his leader's suite in the hospital wing of the Guard Citadel. They were obviously expecting him and his glowering escort.

Ultra Magnus was looking better, though still far from his usual self. Optimus was just relieved that his commander no longer seemed like he was a wire’s breadth from deactivation. He really did not want to live on a Cybertron where Sentinel was in charge. If nothing else, the nightlife would be lousy.

The imposing and (for an Autobot) large frame of the Magnus was still hooked up to a variety of monitors, but he was now able to sit up and speak. Ultra Magnus seemed less intimidating than he used to, but that might just be the comparison to other bots Optimus had recently encountered.

Almost of their own volition, his optics went to Megatron.

"Magnus." The grey mech's tone was flat, hostile.

"Megatron. You are looking well. I can see that Optimus Prime is caring for your wellbeing."

"Yes, your wayward pet is a very considerate Autobot. I can see why you had him expelled from the Academy."

Optimus winced. Perhaps giving the Decepticon unlimited access to all the news sites hadn't been the best idea he had ever had.

"My Primes have never been pets, no matter what Decepticon rumors say." Ultra Magnus said coolly.

"If you don't want those kind of rumors, you should appoint some mecha who are not optic candy. I mean, really Magnus. They all look like that (he gestured at Optimus) and you expect anyone to believe you pick them entirely on merit?"

Right. Massive embarrassment in front of the commanders of both major Cybertronian factions. At least Sentinel wasn't here to see it. Optimus thanked Primus for small favors. He was not sure how he felt about Megatron considering him "optic candy." Except that it was strangely both flattering and terrifying.

"Perhaps Autobots are simply better looking on average than Decepticons, Megatron." Magnus said. "Certainly they are more competent and less treacherous, given that a group of Space Bridge repair bots were able to defeat you."

Megatron snorted. Optimus was reminded of the dragons in some Earth movies. "Of course, having the Allspark and your hammer on their side had nothing to do with it. And I hardly think that Starscream is a good example of Decepticon kind. He wasn't always like that, and the rest of my lieutenants are loyal."

"My Primes are trained to use the tools at hand. And Optimus was one of the most promising young mechs from his academy class, he merely showed poor judgment, and sadly another young Prime was lost."

"Lost because of your kind's prejudices, you mean." Megatron rumbled. "We Decepticons are not so short sighted and xenophobic as to waste talent because of a little thing like that. She gained some interesting abilities from it, after all."

The Magnus looked nonplussed. "Ah, what?"

Optimus decided he had had enough of being treated like he wasn't in the room. He had always suspected that no one was actually reading his reports from Earth. It was depressing to have that confirmed. Apparently he was widely regarded as frag-up optic candy who no one listened to. Now that he was back with the Allspark and had Megatron bonded to him, that would change… right?

"It was in my report, Sir." He said. "Blackarachnia, the technorganic? She used to be Elita One. She's carrying a major grudge against Autobots in general and me in particular." And Sentinel.

Ultra Magnus looked startled, then grim. "Sentinel Prime was assigned to review your mission reports. I will speak to him shortly."

 

*****

 

Megatron decided that enough time had been wasted on verbal repartee with his old enemy. While enjoyable, what he really wanted to know was what the Magnus's angle was on the use of the slave programming. It was possible that the mech had just called him here to gloat, but he doubted it. Judging from his current level of damage, he probably hadn't been in charge when the call had been made to reactivate the code.

Ignoring the Prime, he focused on his old rival and true opponent. They had fought side by side once upon a time, in the last of the Quintesson wars. Ultra Magnus had never before lacked for strength or valor, but he was always far too naive and credulous to be a good leader. For one thing, he had always been a horrible judge of character. Look at his right hand, the Idiot With the Chin. Megatron kept the predictably treacherous Starscream around for good reason, but he seriously doubted that the braggart blue Prime brought a legion of other warrior built fliers with him.

Ultra Magnus could have had the little Earth Prime and Blackarachnia at his back. The techno-organic was a scheming bitch, but she was very good at it, when she wasn't subconsciously sabotaging herself due to misplaced guilt.

"Let’s cut to the chase, shall we, Ultra?" He said coldly. "They reactivated my slave programming."

Ultra Magnus flinched visibly. "I…know." He looked up, a disgusting expression of sincerity on his faceplates. "I would have seen you honorably deactivated, before I allowed that to happen." He looked away then. "I was still unconscious most of the time when that decision was made. The council has much to answer for. Many of them are old enough to have seen the results last time."

"You didn't stop them from doing it, and I know you were online to give my little master his marching orders."

"And for that I am truly sorry, Megatron." The Magnus said softly, his voice tired. "You had already been reprogrammed by that point, and the best I could do was make sure that your new master was a trustworthy mech."

He turned his attention to his Autobot. "Optimus Prime." Ultra Magnus said in a quiet but authoritative tone, "What we discuss here today must go no farther than this room without my express approval."

The little tricolored Prime drew himself up to an even more painfully correct parade rest and nodded shortly. "Yes sir, Ultra Magnus."

That potential issue taken care of, the two leaders regarded each other from across the small medical chamber. Megatron took the offensive, as was his habit. "My Decepticons will stop at nothing to see that the programming does not come into general use again. They're probably planning the assassinations of every mech with a servo in this right now, from council bots to lab technicians."

Ultra Magnus drew himself up as much as he could, given that he was in a medical berth. "They will not succeed in that. We have uncovered several of your agents here, and the vast majority of Autobots are both loyal and vigilant."

"Processor washed and foolish, and not nearly vigilant enough to notice one of my most loyal soldiers had climbed so high into their command structure." Megatron looked down his nasal plating at his rival.

"At this point, I am more impressed by your menial workers than I am by your army. They may be undersized, inexperienced, and hopelessly naive, but surprisingly effective for all that."

Blue optics narrowed angrily. "One of my Primes is hardly a 'menial worker' Megatron. I salute the team on Earth for their skill and initiative, and I believe in rewarding mecha who rise to the occasion in such a manner."

He gestured at Optimus, who had been trying to fade into the walls as the two most powerful mechs in known space bickered, er, engaged in verbal sparring.

"Yes, of course, now that the little group of mecha you left to rot on that filthy dirtball are public heroes, they're worth acknowledging." Megatron retorted. "Besides, they're a useful distraction, and this one is so painfully dedicated to his ridiculous code of honor that he's trustworthy. You can pretend to yourself that the slave code isn't so bad if he's the one holding my leash."

Megatron's voice lowered to a soft, metallic, rumbling snarl of rage. "The slave coding has been used again, and we both know where that leads. You, of all mechs, must remember. You, who bear the coding just as I do."

 

*****

 

_Thank you so much to everyone who added kudos and comments!_


	12. Chains of Command

What. The. Frag?

Optimus gaped at the two leaders. He had to admit, he really hadn't seen that coming. Fine. That was just fine then. He had spent enough of this meeting being a good little wall decoration and fading into the background, but if his…Megatron was going to drop bombshells like that, he needed more information. That wasn't just a dig, or dirt on Ultra Magnus, it was a huge potential security risk.

Learning the details was his duty as an Autobot, and like frag was he going to shirk it just because he was being massively embarrassed in front of his commander and his arch nemesis. He needed to know if the supreme leader of the Autobots was being controlled by someone else, or was likely to become so.

"Ultra Magnus Sir." He said in a smooth, quiet version of his command voice "Is your coding active? There are some truly gifted medics within easy reach who could assist in burying or nullifying it."

He could get Ratchet and Red Alert in here to scrub the Magnus's code so clean it sparkled, if necessary. Ratchet had done so much research on that fragging code that he was probably one of the few subject matter experts currently on the planet. Other than the med techs who had activated it in Megatron.

Two sets of optics turned to regard him with surprise, like they had forgotten he was present. Optic ridges went up.

"No." Said the Magnus. There was a closed, wary look on his faceplates.

"He could have been ordered to not tell anyone about the programming." Said Megatron, crossing his arms over his chest. Almost as one, Optimus and Megatron looked inquiringly at the Magnus.

"My coding is completely dormant." Ultra Magnus said stiffly. "I have been under the care of a large cadre of the best medics on Cybertron, and they would notice if one of them had hacked me to the extent it would take to reactivate it. It is an…invasive process, and quite obvious if you are looking at a bot's operating software. I am hardly the only active Autobot to have inactive coding, and I assure you that there are failsafe measures in place to prevent us becoming compromised in that manner."

"Sir, given that Shockwave, who is known as an expert hacker, was the one responsible for the attack on you, I respectfully request that you let Ratchet take a look. He is a very experienced, very loyal medic, and he has a…femme with a special relationship with the Allspark to assist." Optimus said.

The large blue mech's expression was odd. He looked almost…touched. "Thank you for your concern, Optimus Prime, but I am still a free mech."

"He was never enslaved." Megatron interjected, his voice cool. "He stayed in the military, rising through the ranks instead of trying to make a life in the civilian world. They never used it on active officers. That privilege was reserved for grunts who looked like trouble." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Or made trouble."

"Which you did, in fact." Said the Magnus.

"I was not _making trouble_ , you interfering bag of bolts. I was fighting for equal rights for all of our kind." Megatron growled.

"Funny, it looked like rebellion from where I was standing."

"That part was later. When I realized that war builds would never have a place in the civilian population, our leaders were corrupt, and the only logical thing to do was to scrap the entire system and start over."

"And the loss of innocent life, massive destruction and overthrow of a system that has worked since we won free from the Quintessons was supposed to be a good thing?" The Magnus countered.

"If you recall, the destruction part did not occur until much later, when my previous master had his _unfortunate_ accident." Megatron growled. "And I would rather see your precious system and all its adherents _burn_ than allow the slave coding to gain prominence again. We'll kill every adult mech on wheels if that's what it takes to root out that corruption."

"Don't you think you're being just a _little_ over-dramatic, Megatron?" The Magnus asked. "This was a one-time thing, a solution to the problem that you represent. You aren't beingabused. You aren't even being imprisoned for your crimes. You are bound to one of my best mechs, and he won't mistreat you. He would answer to me if he did."

They were ignoring him again. Optimus seriously considered leaving the room to let them hash it out between themselves, but that would be foolish and irresponsible. Besides, he needed to know if there were any more bombshells with the possibility of being a planet-wide security crisis waiting to be dropped. He needed to get Ratchet in here to take a look at Ultra Magnus, or better yet, get the blue mech out to Omega Supreme. They couldn't take the risk that Shockwave, (or the Magnus's political opponents for that matter) could have activated that code.

Now that he was getting a little more information, it sounded like enslaving the other Decepticons was an even worse idea than he had thought before, which was impressive, since at the time, he had thought it was just about the worst idea since "let's pelt the monster with hummus."

It was nice to hear Ultra Magnus refer to him as one of his "best mechs," but it would be nicer if it came from something other than scoring a rhetorical point with his rival.

Right then. Get Ratchet (and possibly Sari) to take a look at the Magnus. Find a way to keep the other Decepticons from ending up enslaved. Somehow convince the rest of the Decepticons that going scorched planet as a strategy to prevent the code’s use was not a good idea. Oh, and somehow make peace with having his greatest enemy slave bound to him. No pressure.

Convincing said enemy that he wasn't just optic candy would also be nice, if only for his sanity.

You think my _treatment_ at his servos is what I am most worried about?" Megatron growled. "That is the least of my concern regarding this situation. Several of my mechs are in Autobot custody right now, and there is a movement to do this to them, too. And after that? Who next? Your own flying troops, like those two little Autobot jets you had built? The next model of army mecha? The entire next generation of Cybertronians?"

"Really, Megatron. We are far past that. I hardly think that the code is going to come back into general use because a few Decepticon war criminals are controlled using it. The whole thing was settled long ago." The Magnus said stiffly.

*****

Megatron wanted to smash that look of superiority off of Ultra Magnus's face. He was a traitor to all their kind, all the war builds who had defended Cybertron and been betrayed by the ones who had made them. Their leaders at the time had discarded them and then done worse, and now Ultra had become just as bad. A best he was a naive fool, at worst a complete scum.

In either case, he was clearly not strong enough to take charge of the current situation. If Megatron had been in his place, he would have had the mechs who gave the orders to use the code extinguished before their poison could spread further. He might have had to bide his time until he was repaired, but once he rose from the med-bay berth, none would have been safe from his wrath.

How _dare_ the pathetic blue Autobot belittle the seriousness of this. If they had just killed him, that would have been one thing. It would have been expected, reasonable. Perhaps his Decepticons would have been able to rescue him and perhaps not, but he wouldn't be a slave again, wouldn't be ushering in a new age of subjugation and darkness…It never stopped, once begun. Make a few prisoners of war into useful servants, pliant automatons, convenient frag toys and it became easier and easier to rationalize doing it again.

A few short steps down that path, and new protoforms would be brought online with that cursed coding a part of them.

Megatron stared at the Magnus for a moment. "You blind, blind fool of an Autobot." He snarled, then spun on a thruster and slammed out of the room.

"Pardon me, Sir." Optimus said. "I shouldn't let him go unsupervised here."

"Of course, Optimus Prime." Replied the Magnus. "Your loyalty and dedication to duty have always been exemplary. Thank you for coming. It was important that Megatron and I speak, even if it did not go as well as might be hoped."

*****

It wasn't hard to catch up with Megatron. For one thing, the Decepticon couldn't transform, and even if he could, there wasn't enough room for him to fly. Optimus, on the other servo, could simply fold into his alt mode and burn rubber. It occurred to him that he had better put a limit on how far away from him Megatron was allowed to go when they were out in public.

There were alarmed calls going out over the guards' comms as the big grey mech stormed past them. No one seemed to know if they should stop him, or how much force they were legitimately allowed to use.

Optimus was very relived when he sighted Megatron before anybot decided that "deadly" was the appropriate level of said force.

"Megatron, _stop_." He said.

The Decepticon came to a screeching halt in the middle of the corridor, then spun to face him. " _Frag you_." - He snarled. " _Master_."

The next thing he knew, Optimus was pinned against the wall by the hot, hard frame of his very own Decepticon warlord. Alarmed, he tried to wriggle free, but Megatron had his wrists in his clawed servos, the talons just barely indenting the vulnerable conduits and cabling there. He was pressing Optimus's body against the unforgiving surface with his own considerably greater mass. While the position might have been fascinating under other circumstances, now it was...disturbing.

He could feel the rage, the frustration pouring off the gray mech like near-damaging levels of radiation. That would have been distracting enough, if it wasn't accompanied by the warm breeze of his venting ghosting across his plating, which suddenly seemed far too sensitive. Just once, it would be nice to be this close to Megatron when he wasn't in a towering rage or filled with terror, or a spicy combination of the two.

He seriously hoped that the fragging slave programming was really going to prevent Megatron from slagging him right here in the hallway, because he was not in a good position to defend himself at the moment. Served him right for getting complacent about the evil giant war machine in his life.

"Let go of me." He said, struggling to keep his voice even and calm. To his relief, the great clawed servos released him. The mech didn't step away, but at least he was still obeying direct orders. It was unnerving on several levels to have him so close, but it didn't look like he was about to be deactivated at the hands of his nemesis. Optimus sent a 'stand down, situation under control' order to the security guards who had been closing in on their location.

Optimus took a deep invent. "Look, I understand your concerns, and to a large extent, I share them." He said. "I don't want to see you, your generals or any other mech under the influence of that code, and I hate to think of the potential for abuse that exists in anyone who ends up a master. On Earth, they have a saying 'power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely." I don't want to become corrupt, and I don't want Cybertronian society to join me. Use of that code could poison our entire culture, and that's something we have to avoid."

He hesitated, because this wasn't the most private of places to have this conversation. That, and he wasn't really comfortable being nasal components-to-chest armor with Megatron. Even if it was a rather attractive chest.

"I also don't want to see any new protoform onlined with slave coding. Ever." Optimus said quietly. "Ratchet was worried about Jetfire and Jetstorm's code. I remember him fussing at them until they let him check them over back on Earth. He never said why, but I think he was looking to make sure they didn't have it."

Megatron sighed, and stepped away. His hydraulics hissed softly as his shoulder components slumped. Disturbingly, Optimus wasn't sure whether he felt relieved or disappointed by getting his personal space back.

He was opening his mouth to say something, to reassure the mech that Ultra Magnus would never allow the coding to come back into general use, that he himself would never abuse his power over Megatron, when they were interrupted by an exasperatingly familiar voice.

"Well if it isn't my old buddy, Optimus Prime, the _repair bot_ ." Boomed an obnoxious voice, full of officious arrogance.

*****

Well, that was just the perfect way to make his cycle complete. Optimus sighed softly and resisted the urge to make a comment about how Sentinel obviously needed a repair bot to get his head screwed on straight. He didn't, mostly because it would be childish to make "loosing his head" comments.

Tempting though it was. His memory of carrying his old academy-mate's severed head around while hunting the human who had hijacked his body was a warm and fuzzy one. Despite Sentinel's constant (and obnoxious) complaining at the time, it had been enjoyable to see him taken down a few pegs. And his head had made an excellent projectile weapon. The chin probably helped by adding extra ballast.

"If you and your slave are going to be carrying on in public hallways, could you at least do it somewhere other than the Citadel, Optimus?"

Oh, Primus. Sentinel and his lack of either tact or any semblance of an indoor voice. Optimus braced himself for a little more public mocking. At least this batch would be from a source he was used to. And there wasn't an audience (other than Megatron, of course). That was always a plus. Well, except for whoever was monitoring the security cams. Sentinel swaggered forward, foolishly placing himself within the Decepticon's reach in order to taunt his old academy-mate.

Optimus couldn't believe he once had a crush on this mech.

Granted, he had been a lot less obnoxious back when Elita was around. She had been marvelously adept at manipulating him into acting like a mech who didn't have his processor cores muffled by his aft plating. The three of them had been a good match, once. At least, he had thought so at the time. It was possible that he had been deluding himself. He had been young, and he had always had a thing for big mechs with somewhat dominant personalities. And pretty, sneaky femmes, though that was another issue entirely.

Either the blue mech had lost all of his youthful charm, or Optimus just had better taste now. Without Elita and Optimus to provide a balancing influence, Sentinel's ego and xenophobia had only gotten worse over time, and he had become, well, a jerk.

"I suppose you had to come here and flaunt your shiny new responsibility in everybot's faceplates, huh, old buddy?"

Huh. Was Sentinel actually _jealous_ that Optimus was saddled with the Decepticon Warlord as a permanent part of his existence? Optimus knew that tone of voice, and Sentinel was spoiling for a fight.

"I came at Ultra Magnus's command." He said blandly. "He wanted to talk to Megatron and me." He supposed that it might conceivably be considered a status symbol, to have a living (if scary) legend answering to him, but seriously, they were _spark bonded_. It wasn't like Megatron was a fancy experimental mod that he had been entrusted with.

"Riiiight. And you making him follow your orders in the middle of the hallway is totally the Magnus's orders too. You got chosen to take him because you got to use the Magnus Hammer in that battle, and it let you beat him. I would have been able to do the same if I had had it like I should have."

Ah. That was still burning Sentinel's aft, wasn't it? He had always been a braggart and a glory hound. Any way you looked at it, being the mech to defeat and capture Megatron was a major coup. Of course, all that time spent fighting the Cons on Earth leading up to that part had been a lot less glorious than everybot made it out to be.

Uh, oh. Megatron had that look in his optics. The one from Earth, where he was about to try to offline the lot of them, because they were in his way. Well, actually, he looked more pissed off than he had back then. Optimus hoped his Decepticon wasn't about to take Sentinel's attitude personally.

*****

What was it with the Autobots and blue mechs being exhaust sucking aft heads? Megatron wondered as he listened incredulously to the Idiot with the Chin expound on how he could have done better in the little Prime's place.

As if.

This overstuffed twit would have been a smear on the Detroit’s road surfaces so fast the native fauna would have missed filming it for their insipid news broadcasts.

The fool was actually...trying to intimidate his Prime? Someone who had gone stabilizer to stabilizer with the Decepticon Elite? This swollen chinned moron?

He actually went up to the smaller Prime and _poked him in the chest plates_. No one got to aggressively intrude on the personal space of his ma- his Prime but him! Oooh, his programming was going to register that as an attack on his master. Megatron grinned with malicious glee.

 ****  



	13. Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, sorry about the delay. I was distracted by getting in a car accident. Everyone is fine, except for my car. RIP Minimus Prime.

*****

Optimus felt a sudden sense of utter glee over the bond, and glimpsed the brief flash of a very pointy grin over Sentinel's shoulder, when the other Prime was abruptly swatted away. There was a brief shriek of metal on metal, and then a loud crash as Sentinel went flying into the wall hard enough to become embedded in the low density metal.

Optimus winced.

Suddenly, he was very glad that they had all those surveillance cameras trained on them, because he was pretty sure this was going to get him in trouble.

Megatron had palmed Sentinel's head like an NBA star with a basketball, and looked like he was trying to decide if he should go for a three pointer, when Optimus recovered from his surprise. He darted forward and grabbed the other grey, clawed servo as it descended towards Sentinel's clavicle struts.

"No! STOP!" he bellowed, managing to slow the onrushing talons before the bigger mech could proceed with his obvious plan to start disassembling Sentinel in as messy a fashion as possible.

Megatron did stop, with an expression that said clearly that he did not see any good reason for the interruption.

"You-you're not supposed to be able to harm Autobots!" Sentinel sputtered, obviously shocked by the suddenness of both the violence and finding himself partially stuck in the wall.

Megatron wasn't grinning any more, but there was a small, satisfied, _alarmingly_ malicious smile hovering around his mouth components.

"Silly Autobot." He purred. "You threatened my master. His irritatingly quick reflexes are all that stopped me from removing the threat. A pity, it's been ages since I've gotten an actual workout. Being a slave is _so_ dull, and the Prime here hasn't been using me to rain down destruction on his enemies or _anything_."

_Could_ he use Megatron to rain destruction down on his enemies? Optimus didn't actually have any enemies that needed destruction-rain, unless you counted the Decepticons, and he certainly wasn't going to try to make Megatron fight his own. That would be Wrong. It was unsettling to have the possibility brought up, though.

Optimus got between Sentinel and Megatron, put a servo on Megatron's chest, and pushed. The implicit order was clear enough that the Decepticon reluctantly stepped back, abandoning his prey. He looked distinctly put out by this.

Right. First order of business, assuming he wasn't about to get court-martialed for this, was to find Megatron a hobby and get him some exercise. Optimus realized that he was still touching the mech, and backed off in a hurry.

He turned to look at his old friend, who was futilely attempting to pry himself out of the wall. He didn't look too damaged, probably because Megatron had only been getting warmed up. "Sentinel…"

"You, you, Decepticon Sympathizer!" the other Prime bellowed. "How dare you let your slave attack me!"

"That's enough, Sentinel!" Optimus snapped. "The fragging code makes the enslaved mech a bodyguard for the master, which you know perfectly well! You came out here looking for trouble, and when you found it, you couldn't handle it! Let me think, does that remind you of anything? I am through taking the fall for your bad judgment, because you keep making the same bad calls again and again! Well, you had a second chance with Elita, and you blew that. She didn't listen to me, but she might have listened to you if you had managed to rise to the occasion for once in your slagging existence!"

Optimus stopped, vents roaring as he fought to regain his composure.

"Oh, do go on, master." Purred Megatron. "I am finding this little meeting most enlightening. I take it you have history with this imbecile?"

Oops, he had forgotten for a click that he and Sentinel weren't alone. It was never a good idea to get too carried away with personal history slag with a Decepticon in the room. Megatron looked interested. And he was smirking, which was never a positive sign. The warlord probably knew by now about the incident that had gotten Optimus kicked out of the Elite Guard, but he probably didn’t have all the personal details.

Frankly, Optimus was totally fine with it staying that way, but suspected that was a little too much to hope for. He took a deep, calming in-vent. "Alright, this is not the time or the place for this. Sentinel, if you want to have a constructive discussion at some point, you know where to find me. Come on Megatron, let's go home."

As they left, a couple of guards and a medic arrived to start prying Sentinel out of the Citadel's walls.

*****

Later, flying home, it occurred to Optimus that things could have been worse. Megatron could have been bonded to Sentinel. The thought of the biggest blowhard in the Elite Guard in charge of the commander of the enemy faction was horrifying on multiple levels. Power had a tendency to go to the other Prime's head, and his use of it was not always entirely honorable.

Wait, he was doing that "too nice" thing that Ratchet scolded him for again. Ok, he wouldn't trust Sentinel with a small, yappy pet drone, let alone a Decepticon warlord with a nasty temper and a large collection of grudges.

In general, having Megatron around wasn't nearly as bad as Optimus had been expecting, but apparently there were some complications he hadn't been aware of before. He supposed it had been a nice vacation, all things considered, but obviously it was time to start working out how his life was going to work with its dangerous new addition. He needed to start doing some serious research, and solidify that fragging bond so that things like this didn't catch him quite so off guard.

Good thing he had so many knowledgeable resources to draw upon. First things first though. He was going to have to deal with the aftermath of Sentinel and Megatron's little meet and greet.

*****

To Optimus's great surprise, it turned out not to be a big deal. Apparently, there were whole codes of conduct, and complex regulations built around dealing with enslaved war builds, and neither Optimus nor Megatron had actually violated them.

Optimus made a point of downloading the whole mass of data, and spent the next several days integrating it. He was more than a little bothered by the fact that this situation had once been common enough to have entire sections of law regulating it.

And it was tank-churning how little of it seemed to be for the protection of the enslaved mechs. Most of that seemed to be aimed more at protecting valuable property (and a war-build slave had been considered very valuable, once upon a time) than the mech him (or her) self.

Megatron was in a disturbingly good mood for a little while, then took up prowling around the apartment like a Dinobot in a too-small cage. Ratchet had rather sarcastically suggested that Optimus take the Decepticon "walkies," but Optimus wasn't quite ready to do that until he had more of a handle on exactly what to expect when he and his…slave interacted with other Autobots.

Obviously, the code did NOT prevent a mech from being dangerous to others. In fact, if a slave's bond-master was in physical danger, the slave got quite a lot of leeway to protect him. This included overriding orders (like not harming Autobots) if it meant keeping the dominant mech in the relationship physically safe.

Optimus wondered what other fun loopholes he needed to know about. It could be very important to everyone's long term well being to become a subject matter expert in the practical administration of that slagging code. After all, it was pretty obvious that Megatron already was, and was playing those particular gambling icons close to his chest armor.

So he did research, and talked with Ratchet, Arcee, and a few of the oldest mecha he could find, and learned about the coding.

*****

Megatron was bored. He was not suited to idleness. Since he was both a political prisoner and a slave, he was denied his usual pursuits. At least as a part of Isaac Sumdac's laboratory décor, he had been able to plot, and take over drones for his amusement. Right now, there was a distinct lack of pawns to direct. It was most vexing.

It wasn't like he had any duties, either, and the Little Prime didn't seem inclined to wander the city with his bodyguard, so there wasn't even the stimulation of seeing new sights or gauging possible threats. Too bad he wasn't getting any further opportunities to beat up his Autobot's rivals. That was always fun. Especially given how annoying some of them were.

At least the medic showed up regularly. The snark was refreshing. Nevertheless, he needed to find something to occupy himself.

Masterminding a jailbreak for his comrades would have been the ideal use of his time, but he didn't have much to work with. Hopefully his remaining officers were on the problem, because all he had was a data connection and the occasional visit from a bunch of mechs who were rabidly loyal to his master, and unlikely to be of any use unless he had some kind of leverage. Besides which, the younger ones were twits.

In the meantime, he needed to avoid losing his processor from boredom. Perhaps he could taunt his owner. The Prime was so disgustingly sympathetic that it seemed ungrateful to rub his olfactory sensors in the slavery issue, but there was always the less than stellar behavior of the Elite Guard, and Cybertron's current levels of hysterical xenophobia to work with.

They were huge transforming mecha, for Primus sake. They did not need to run away from squishies unless they were gigantic and breathed fire, like those wyrm things on that one planet… Or the venomous spiders that Blackarachnia still occasionally had nightmares about.

The other officers had made fun of her for that little phobia, until she had somehow acquired a few of the things and loosed them in Blitzwing's quarters. That had been some quality entertainment, to be sure. He had put her in the brig for that stunt, of course, but he and Strika had both laughed their afts of about it later.

His Autobot was reading a history file. It was actually one of the less egregiously inaccurate ones, but still had a fairly high level of Autobot propaganda. He made a mental note to threaten, bribe, or cajole access to some archives for raw data and primary accounts. His Autobot was not as malleable as could be hoped for, but he was not a fanatic, and could be swayed by well-presented arguments, particularly when backed up by concrete facts…

"You seem restless." The young Prime observed.

Such an observant little Autobot. "I am unaccustomed to such inactivity." He said shortly. "The last time I was idle for so long, I was a disembodied head trapped in a human's lab."

Warm blue optics studied him sharply, and the mech seemed to come to some conclusion. "I agree." Said the Prime. "Let’s head to the Elite Guard training areas. We can spar for a while. Perhaps go flying after that."

"Oh joy." Said Megatron. "And how many of your fellows will shoot me at once if I appear to be menacing their future leader and current idol?"

Those pretty lips turned up in a smile. "There's an easy way to avoid that, you know. We just have to invite some of the other guards to watch. You're a legend, you know. None of them would turn down the opportunity."

Megatron harrumphed, but couldn't exactly argue. At this point, he had been physically idle for so long that his cabling felt stiff and his gyros rusty. A nice sparring match with the best the Elite Guard had to offer sounded wonderful. He had always enjoyed fighting with his Autobot Prime.

*****

In the low lighting typical of a Decepticon Warship, several bulky figures and a few smaller, spiky ones met.

"How does our liege, Reflector?” Asked the deep voice of the leader, an ancient and powerful Decepticon. She was one of the rare femme warbuilds. Her heavy armor and utility-over- aesthetics design were highly unusual to the optics of newer mecha, but once they had not been so uncommon.

The mech on the conference screen held himself at attention. "Far better than we expected, General Strika." He said. "The Autobot scum of the council was partially overruled by the Iaconian Medical Board when they were screening potential Autobots to accept our Lord's code link. The Prime they chose appears to be an honorable mech. I have witnessed no abuse of our lord by him or any other since they were bound."

Strika sighed. "That is good news, but also alarming.Have you or your team discovered any hard data on the Spark compatibility of this Optimus Prime to our lord?"

"No, commander. I have been unable to remotely access the Citadel's medical records, which are kept separate from the network. Without a mech on the inside, they remain out of our reach." Reflector answered.

The general's optics narrowed. "And our infiltration of the Citadel?"

Reflector bowed. He was extremely glad that he had better news on that front. Everyone knew that Strika would raze all of Iacon to the ground before she allowed her consort to be bound by slave code.

"Our agent is making excellent progress, commander." He said.

"Good," Strika said. "Proceed with plan Alpha, using the greatest possible speed. I wish to see my consort free as soon as possible. Now, I need you or one of your agents to make contact with our liege lord."

*****

As Optimus had predicted, the training room was packed. Of course, most of the mecha there were pretending to be present to work on their own skills, but the were really not fooling anybot. He spotted Jazz and Hot Rod, among other familiar face-plates. Most of the crowd was watching Megatron with barely-concealed apprehensiveness.

He had more-or-less gotten used to the huge grey war-build's growly, looming presence by now, but the audience hadn't. There were a lot of wide, fascinated optic trained on the warlord. A lot of the mecha present had probably never seen a Decepticon in person before. The ones who had were acting more wary, but not as nervous.

Besides giving a heads-up to his friends in the Guard, he had invited one of the elderly mechs who he had been consulting with on the slave code. Kup was even older, grumpier, and more practical than Ratchet, which was something that Optimus would have considered impossible before witnessing it himself. Kup had trained half of the senior officers in the guard at one time or another, and was more than happy to spend hours talking about the Bad (but exciting) Old Days.

He had agreed to referee, and had also been thoughtful enough to program the training weapons fabricator to create base metal dummies of Optimus's axe and Megatron's swords. Optimus had decided not to ask why Kup had the specs for Megatron's weapons handy.

The training weapons were the standard blunt edged versions, meant to cut down on post-training trips to the med bay or accidental limb removal. When Optimus had been in training, his sergeant had told them it was to keep them from "cutting off their own fool heads." Megatron looked pleased when Kup handed his swords over with a curt nod. He spun the dummy weapons expertly, probably testing the balance.

The crowd looked a bit alarmed, but not too much more than they had earlier. Megatron ignored them all with a supremely self-confident air of unconcern.

Optimus was impressed. He didn't think he would be that calm if he was in a room filled with enemy mechs. He decided that he wanted to achieve that level of poise someday, and wondered privately if there were tutorials available on the infonet.

Well, he would just have to work with what he had available at the moment. He had allies in the room, and he had Megatron. Studying that mech would probably count as a master-course in confident bearing.

Hopefully Sentinel would keep his distance. He'd rather do this without a lot of (probably insulting) commentary from the carbon crisp gallery. Besides, he didn't entirely trust Sentinel not to do something stupid and give Megatron another opportunity to see if Primes bounced. He mentally shook his head and concentrated on his warmup exercises.

*****

They circled, clashed, and circled again. Optimus deployed his grapplers, and Megatron took to the air to avoid them. The Prime was in fine form, despite his recent time spent pouring over historical documents instead of training.

Not that Megatron exactly blamed him for doing research. The younger mech was wise enough to know he was in over his helm, and was hitting the infonet to find out what he didn't know. It was actually quite laudable.

He dodged a swing with the axe. The Autobot had improved a very great deal since their first encounter, and in truth, he had been no rust-jointed drone then, either. His form was good, and had more than a hint of that trademark Cyber Ninja flowing grace to it. Somewhere along the line, he had picked up a fine array of tactics for fighting a larger, heavier opponent.

Of course, Megatron still had mass, reach, and experience, age, and treachery on his side. The little Prime had a long way to go before he was a match for that. He feinted with one sword and brought his other blade in for a stab at the vulnerable abdominal components to the left of the spark. His opponent managed to block the blow, but the force of it badly jarred his lighter frame.

It was almost too bad he wasn't a little bigger. The mech was clever, fast, and fought with a certain panache, but he would definitely be more of a challenge if he had greater mass. Not that Megatron was bored. This was most entertaining. The Prime was also giving his comrades a good show, which was undoubtedly the point of this whole exercise. Hopefully the winner of this little bout would get to spar the braver onlookers. He hadn't been given an order to throw the match, and his opponent had neither the Magnus hammer nor flight capability, so it was a foregone conclusion.

There - the smaller mech over-extended, and he had an opening. Megatron locked the axe with one of his weapons, and then disarmed his opponent with a twist of his wrist. A shoulder strike into the Prime’s torso, and he went tumbling to the mats, one of Megatron's swords aimed for his spark.

"Time!" Shouted the relic who was proctoring the match. There was something strangely familiar about that mech. He would have to search his archives for information later.

Megaton pointed his practice blades at the floor and stood back, allowing his Prime to gracefully roll to his stabilizers.

He glanced at their audience. They were surrounded by a ring of wide blue optics, quite a few of whom were looking at the young Prime with considerable respect. There were more than a few apprehensive glances in his direction as well. Understandable, though a little sparring bout didn't provide much in the way of loopholes to his prohibition on harming Autobots. The programming understood "training" just fine, and he wanted to be allowed to do this often.

Their time stood at almost five breems. He had destroyed squadrons in less. The Prime was an excellent warrior for someone so young and small, and he had just showed it in front of an audience.

Hmph. Mission presumably accomplished.  



	14. Sleeping arrangements

*****

Omega Supreme was happy. He had been meticulously repaired, and Ratchet had gotten the mechs on the repair crews to talk to him like he was a sentient being, and not merely dumb machinery. Ratchet and Arcee had worked out most of their issues, and the tension level onboard had lowered considerably. Bulkhead, Bee and Sari spent much of their time onboard, and Optimus Prime was visiting.

Unlike the trio of young bots, who came and engaged in endless multiplayer video games (almost always making a point of including Omega) the Prime tended to be much more serious. It was good to see him though, especially without his shadow, the Decepticon leader. It made Ratchet happy, and Optimus was a nice mech. Brave, too. Omega could tell from the recorded video logs he had from when he was in stasis.

Optimus Prime always made a point of greeting Omega and holding at least a brief conversation with him every time he visited. Omega Supreme liked him. Most Primes weren't so polite to mechs beneath them in the military structure, much less those who were essentially large pieces of military hardware.

Now, he listened in on Ratchet's conversation with the young Prime.

"Both you and Megatron look good on spark scans" said Ratchet. "A little strain, but that's only to be expected under the circumstances. It would probably be much worse if you weren't recharging with him."

The shrewd blue optics beneath the damaged red chevron watched his leader, waiting. After a short time duration, the Prime began to squirm. Ratchet stepped up his stare.

Predictably, Optimus gave in.

"We, uh, haven't been co-recharging, Ratch." He said awkwardly. "He gets all anxious and angry when I'm close to him, and…"

Ratchet snorted loudly. "That was when you first brought Tall, Dark and Gruesome home, Optimus. Now I'm sure he'd be happy to bed down with you. At least if I'm any judge, which I am, by the way. No mech could possibly think you had nefarious designs on them after this long in your company."

Privately, Omega agreed. He did not trust many mecha other than Ratchet, but he would trust the Prime. It was too bad he didn't live on board Omega's structure with the others, but given that such an arrangement would mean Megatron was here too, it was probably just as well. That mech was a (what was Sari's word?) a jerk. Of epic proportions. Optimus Prime deserved better.

"The best way to make sure that the Decepticons aren't going to have their best sniper shoot you through the spark the next time you're in the field is to have a nice, secure, and dare I say, snuggly bond with the Con." Ratchet said severely. He put his servos on his hips and glared at his commander. "Besides, his spark is going to be under much more strain than yours due to the programming, and he's not exactly young anymore. Do you want him to extinguish early because the two of you wouldn't share a room?"

If there was one thing Optimus Prime could not resist, it was a guilt trip. He looked alarmed at the prospect.

"No, Ratchet." He said meekly.

The medic added a bit more pressure. "Taking care of a bond-mate is a major responsibility, Optimus. Even more if it’s a slave bond, since the other mech is subordinate to you. You wouldn't want to mistreat him like his previous master did, after all."

Optimus looked horrified. "Of course not! I would never do something like that!"

There was a tiny _ting_ sound as Ratched flicked him in the helm. "Then take care of him. Whether he's happy about it or not. It’s not like a little recharge is going to impugn his honor! Really Optimus, you're not a blushing virgin, and he's about as far from that as it’s possible for a mech to be. It's only recharge, you're not eloping to Epsilon Five together. Take care of things. It will do you both good."

The red blue and silver mech smiled ruefully, admitting defeat. "Yes Ratchet". He said.

Omega Supreme was glad that Optimus listened to Ratchet. The medic was wise and compassionate. That was one reason that Omega had made an important decision. He needed to tell his medic that he also had the slavery code, and that if there was any possibility of him being bound to a strange mech, he wanted his friend and mentor to be his master instead.

This was a private conversation, though, and he would wait until the young Prime had gone back to his own War Build bonded.

Maybe if Omega Supreme was very, very lucky, his Ratchet would share sparks with him like Optimus had with Megatron.

*****

Megatron had, to his annoyance, been left in the apartment alone, and he was bored. He occupied his time as best he could with exploring interesting bits of the infonet. If nothing else, his captivity meant he was catching up on his reading. He only had a one-way connection, which allowed him to view information but not send any. His Prime was not a total fool, after all. Just very young.

Currently, he was perusing the data from the last Cybertronian census. He wondered if these population figures could possibly be right. Surely the number of mecha on Cybertron should not have become so reduced since the Decepticon Rebellion? No wonder the Autobots had such difficulty mounting an effective defense against his forces attacking their outlying space bridge facilities all at once.

Had it truly been so long since the Allspark had been available that so many Cybertronians had extinguished? Or perhaps they had relocated to other worlds and systems. Difficult to fathom, if that were the case. All of their kind felt the pull of their homeworld, the metal form of Primus.

His Decepticons sang songs of longing to their lost home, late in the cycle after a good party, or when they felt melancholy. They were beautiful and sad, the counterpoint to all their warlike tunes of conquest and battle.

For all that their exodus had meant their freedom and at least a minimal level of prosperity, his kind still missed their home world. It was hard to imagine giving Cybertron up without a very good reason. Like war and slavery.

He filed the information for later, with a mental note to discuss it with the old medic from his Prime's crew. The mech might have some insight to share, as he had been on planet (or at least based here) when all this was going on.

The Autobots must have been using stored sparks to create younglings like the Prime and his idiot sidekicks. Of course, with the Allspark back on Cybertron, they would be growing their numbers again. He scowled at the terminal. That was bad news for the Decepticons, unless they could do the same thing. Once he encountered more of modern Cybertron, he should see if there was enough exploitable societal unrest to recruit some of the new builds.

In the meantime, he found a very old message board on an obscure site devoted to poetry, and searched for posts using names and codes from the days just prior to the war. Hopefully one of the elder Decepticons or one of the younger but more literate agents would remember it and get in contact.

*****

"So, how are things going with you and Big, Pointy, and Malevolent?" Asked Jazz curiously.

"They're…all right." Optimus replied slowly. "Much better than I would have expected, honestly."

The two of them were at Maccadam's Old Oil House, having a cube of the reserve blend. Optimus was buying. He had been given a ridiculous bonus and a very generous salary when he returned with the Allspark, Omega, and a batch of Decepticons. Buying a few rounds seemed only reasonable under the circumstances, and it was nice to have a bit of a break from both Megatron and the paparazzi. Apparently they didn't notice him nearly as much if he wasn't flying around with a big, pointy escort. It was really good to be just another truckbot for a change.

"Your little exhibition spar at HQ was pretty impressive, Opt. I don't know if I'd wanna step into the ring with the Slag-maker himself, 'specially in front of an audience." Jazz said, giving him a look that clearly demanded insider information.

"Do you think the other Elite Guard officers will think badly of me since I didn't win most of the bouts?"Optimus asked. That had been worrying him a bit, actually.

"Ha, no. I thought half the mecha there were going to lubricate themselves when he looked at 'em. Nobody is gonna judge you any for not winning, especially since ya were able to hold your own against him for that long. Now, if ya had won, bots might start wonderin if ya had ordered him to throw the match." the silvery mech answered.

Wait…what? "I did beat him before, you know." Optimus said reproachfully.

Jazz put his servos up and smiled disarmingly. "Of course ya did" he said. "But ya had a lot more room to move around, a team around ya, your jetpack, and the Magnus Hammer. Just you and a mech that much bigger than you in a training ring, you got waaay fewer options. Situation like that, you know how much things like reach and mass make a difference."

Jazz had a point there, Optimus supposed. No amount of training was going to erase the difference in size between him and Megatron.

"No mecha who have ever faced a real Decepticon will be anything but impressed, and the ones who haven't yet, they'll learn, dig?" Jazz grinned, a mischievous glint in the expression. "If he can be trusted not to offline his sparring partners, you could probably move that learnin experience up on everyone's timetables, too."

Optimus had an alarming mental image of Megatron and Sentinel in the sparring ring together and shuddered.

*****

Dark was falling, the rays of their star making the lower atmosphere glow. Optimus had returned to his oversized apartment and his even more oversized housemate in good spirits, but Megatron seemed to be sulking a bit. The other side of the bond felt decidedly grumpy. He probably didn't like being left behind.

Now it was time to recharge, and the Decepticon had retreated to his chamber in the apartment's master berthroom. Optimus took a deep, calming in-vent and entered after knocking politely. Scarlet optics looked up at him with mild surprise. The big, spiky mech was sprawled comfortably across the berth, an Autobot-sized datapad looking small in his huge, clawed servos.

Optimus hoped this was going to go all right. He didn't like infringing on Megatron's personal space, but in this case it had to be done. He was just going to play it cool, as Jazz would say. Optimus sat on the edge of the berth, ignoring the tension in Megatron's frame and field. "All right, shove over." He said. He was keeping his body-language as matter of fact and non-threatening as possible, and hopefully Megatron knew him well enough by now to understand that he meant it.

"What…." Oooh, the slagmaker was at a loss for words. Optimus took a moment to savor such a rare occurrence. It wasn't often that he saw the older mech visibly surprised.

Optimus nudged him aside, and flopped down on the oversized master berth. It was nicer than the one he normally recharged in. Of course, his usual berth was by far the most comfortable he had ever encountered before now. "Medic's orders." He said calmly. "I've been putting it off, but I think Ratchet's right, we really do need to recharge next to each other for a while to stabilize the bond. Don't worry, I don't vocalize during defrag."

Megatron was gaping at him. It was kind of amusing, and much better than having him be angry and afraid that his master was joining him in the berth. "What?" Optimus asked, his tone of voice filled with innocence. "If we used one of the other rooms, one of us would probably end up falling off the berth."

"Are you…You're serious." Megatron had bolted upright when Optimus sat on the berth, and was staring down at his sprawled form, scarlet optics wide. He looked like he couldn't quite decide whether to be alarmed or pissed off.

"About recharging here? Of course." Optimus answered calmly. "I hope you don't kick or anything." He supposed he shouldn't tease the mech, but it wasn't like Megatron didn't needle him like it was a professional sport.

The Decepticon commander sprang up from the berth like he was afraid of catching rust. Optimus actually felt a little offended. It wasn't like he smelled or anything, and he had thought they were past the whole "evil Autobot slave master is going to abuse me at the first opportunity" thing. Seriously, did the grumpy old fragger have to be quite so prickly and paranoid?

And…there was the snarl. Oh good, he had been getting worried. He waited for the inevitable sarcastic remark.

"Despite rumors to the contrary, I do not sleep with Autobots.” The warlord said coolly. “I prefer my berthmates a little less…delicate."

Well, that was _much_ less cutting than he was expecting. Optimus saw Megatrons optics stray towards the door to the room. "And a little more experienced."

Ouch. There it was. Optimus responded in kind. After all, he wanted to put his Decpticon at ease, and for some reason, the way to do that seemed to be with snark. "What makes you think I'm inexperienced?" he asked, smiling innocently up at the other mech.

Optical guard ridges went up. "If telling another to 'shove over' is how you normally enter a berth you're sharing, you must be, because that is hardly the sort of line a mech of experience would use. Now, if you'll excuse me, I shall recharge on the couch."

Optimus sighed. So much for doing this with a minimum of drama or power plays. "Stay." His order was soft. "We're just going to recharge, nothing more. Now, come back to the berth. I'd like to get a solid defragmentation intonight." With that, Optimus relaxed across the (very comfortable) sleeping pad and set his optics to stealth mode. He was a little curious about his reluctant roommate's reaction. It would probably say a lot about how their adjustment to coexistence was progressing.

There was a muted grumble. Slowly, reluctantly, Megatron lay down beside him, the dense, spiky armor like a distant mountain range in the darkness. Optimus took a moment to analyze the older mech's fields and the bond for negative emotions, and was pleased that he only felt annoyance and a fairly mild unease. He let himself drift into recharge, knowing that his unwilling guest wouldn't do the same if he were awake. Normal. He was going to keep acting like things were normal, and hopefully they'd eventually become so.

He hoped the Decepticon didn't toss in recharge.


	15. Snug

*****

Megatron awoke with an Autobot Prime cuddled into his side. He felt warm and calm, which in his experience was not how a slave normally felt after a night in his master's berth. There was a blue and red arm flung across his chest, and he was taken aback to realize that his own arm was surrounding the Prime in an almost possessive manner.

His functioning was truly a strange place these days.

The previous recharge period, he had stayed awake for what seemed like ages, a thousand irrational fears and bad memories flitting through his processors. The fragging Autobot Prime had simply sprawled across the (for him) oversized berth and gone into recharge, like nothing whatsoever was amiss. He hogged the space, too.

Megatron had been left awake, listening to the other mech's peacefully purring engines as he tried to decide how he felt about the current development.

When he had imagined sharing a berth with his little Autobot master, this was not precisely what he had pictured. He would admit, if only to himself, that he might have had a few daydreams of such things when he was back on Earth. Scenarios where he ended up in a position like this with the Prime. Those had been nothing but a bit of idle fun, though. Mostly when he was stuck in a lab on Earth (or a few times a drifting ship alone except for Starscream's disembodied head).

What could he say? It was frustrating to be disassembled and broken, and the only attractive, non-Starscream mechs around had been a couple of the Autobots. He was certainly not going to fantasize about Blitzwing, Blackarachnia or (ugh) Lugnut. Well, perhaps Blackarachnia, but that definitely wouldn't involve post-interface cuddling. He liked his lovers non-venomous, thank you very much. Sharing a berth was a rare thing for him, something he only indulged in with mecha he trusted not to stab him while he was in recharge. It was ironic that he was doing it now with an out-and-out enemy combatant.

Well, the current situation might be less exciting than any of his earlier idle imaginings, but it was far more comfortable. It was… rather pleasant, actually. His master was going out of his way to be totally non-threatening, and he was doing a shockingly good job. It was hard to believe that he had almost been deactivated by this mech a short time ago.

Being comfortable was no reason to drop his guard, of course. He was still a Decepticon. And his Prime was still an Autobot. Even if he was a very cuddly one.

Megatron shifted, and the Prime snuggled back into his side. He resolutely ignored the pleasant sensation of the warm armor sliding against his own. Just like he was going to ignore the sweetly purring engine and any attraction he might feel towards a mech who was his enemy. He looked down at the graceful blue, red and silver form curled against his own. Frag it all. At least there were no witnesses.

He sighed, and let recharge pull him back under. Obviously, he was in no danger here. Giving in just this one time wouldn't do any harm. It wasn't like he was sharing a berth with Starscream, after all.

*****

The Decepticon spy nonchalantly strolled into the medical archives building at Iacon Central Medical Facility. She wore the drab colors of a maintenance worker, and steered a mag lift with cans of cleaner and other maintenance supplies. There had been an accidental spill of some kind of solvent down in the janitor's closet, and she had been dispatched to clean it up, as the regular maintenance bot had had a nasty but nonfatal traffic accident that morning.

She hummed quietly as she went. This was her kind of assignment, walking into the target in plain site, in a guise that no one would bother to question. After all, a mop and a bucket were pretty much a mark of membership anywhere.

Some time and multiple cleaning rags later, she "discovered" another "leak" near one of the conduits that led to a network node, which happened to be part of the isolated medical records system. A few quick downloads into a handheld memory module, and she was done. Wouldn't want to court nasty security measures by trying to download info into her processor, after all. Besides, it was undoubtedly encrypted, and would have to be cracked elsewhere, by other mecha. She was an infiltrator, not a data specialist.

She surreptitiously slid the module into the false bottom of an empty bucket. No problems. Agent Reflector and General Strika would be pleased.

Now all she had to do was make the rendezvous and deliver her data haul. She hoped that at some point she would be able to report her success to Shockwave. He would be approving in that understated way of his. Hopefully they would be busting him and the others out of this pit in the not-too-distant future. The fragging Autobots had overstepped big time.

She left the med center just as she had entered it, another janitorial-grade Autobot of no great importance. No possible threat to anyone, and only a few steps up from a drone in the optics of the higher-ups.

Who needed an invisibility cloaking system? An unremarkable faceplate and a boring paint job, and a clever mecha could go anywhere she pleased. Thunderblast smiled. It was a good cycle.

*****

Shockwave sat statue-still in the corner of his barren cell, his knees drawn up to his chest plates. He was staying still to conserve energy and curling up in an attempt to stay warm. The guards had tossed him in here and left him, with only the occasional delivery of a small amount of low-grade fuel. It was actually better than he had expected, given the Autobots' usual attitude towards those they considered traitors.

That was a relief, but it also concerned him. He had expected to have been publicly tried and executed by now. They had done only a cursory hack of his processor and left him here to rot. They must have other plans for him, but he was unsure what they were.

He was capable of withstanding the isolation, but it was difficult. As a spy, he was used to keeping a healthy emotional distance from those around him, but he was also accustomed to being surrounded by mecha. He found himself missing the chatter of his co-workers, annoying though he had always found it. His other persona, Longarm, had been more amused by it, but that mech was a construct, parts of his personality that he had used to build shell programs to avoid slipping out of character.

He worried about what had happened to his liege, and what his own fate might be. He had accepted the likely possibility that he would die at Autobot servos one day, but he wanted that death to be a brave one in the line of duty, not slowly offlining of energy deprivation while curled in a barren cell.

He had no idea what had happened to the others, Lugnut and the Starscream clones. Those pitiful creatures didn't even have fully developed personality matrixes yet, their mental and emotional development jumpstarted with (mostly unfortunate) facets of Starscream's personality.

Shockwave momentarily offlined his optic. He wished he had some idea what was going on. It was possible that the Autobots were leaving him in isolation to soften him up for something, but he didn't know what it might be.

He hoped they moved him somewhere, put him on trial, something. Besides the fact that he could use a change of scene, it might give him some opportunity to escape this place and perhaps even find his lord.

*****

Tucked into a tiny alcove in a jury-rigged bed on board Omega Supreme, Sari Sumdac dreamed. The blue light sang to her in words she almost, but not quite understood. It wanted her to do…something. She wasn't sure what.

One thing she did know was that the glowing crystal thingy that it kept showing her was lonely and wanted a worthy mech to carry it. It had been lost and alone in the dark for a long, long time. She thought it needed to meet Optimus. He was the worthiest bot she knew.

She was pretty sure it wanted her to come visit, too. What the heck was that all about? She wished Prowl were here. He was always so good at that mystical touchy-feely stuff.

The blue glowing thing (she was mostly sure it was the Allspark) pulsed a feeling at her. A sense of…agreement?

She woke up, disoriented in the dim lighting. There was something she was supposed to do. Unfortunately, she wasn't quite sure what it was. One thing she was sure of, was that she needed to go and visit the AllSpark. And she was pretty sure she should bring the guys.

Sari sighed. She really, really wished Prowl was here. He'd have some kind of ninja wisdom about all this. Maybe he would have been able to make some sense of all these weird dreams she was having about the Allspark, and jetbots (she was pretty sure one of them was Starscream) and a big white winged mech with kind blue optics.

And maybe something about a temple, or a church or something. But she wasn't quite sure about that part. She made a mental note to ask Ratchet and Arcee about it in the morning. Maybe they could help her find out something about the building on Robot Wikipedia or whatever they used. It was worth a try, anyway. Ratchet was, like, super old, so maybe he had been there in person.

She could still hear the Allspark (probably the Allspark) singing quietly to itself. Sari sighed. Why did being a techno-organic freak of nature of semi-unknown origins have to be so _complicated?_

*****

Optimus woke with a Decepticon halfway curled around him, engine purring softly, so quiet it was nearly silent. It was astonishingly comfortable. Megatron was warm, and his fields were calm as a peaceful sea. The berth was comfortable, and the sun through the elaborate windows (he had never noticed the colored borders on the sturdy plas-glass before) was bright.

It was going to be a beautiful day on Cybertron.

He needed to get up. He was pretty sure that the smart thing to do would be to give Megatron his space for a little while after this. It had been a big step. The mech was so fragging prickly, and his space had definitely been invaded. Though apparently he didn't mind Optimus's presence at all- as long as he wasn't conscious.

The Prime ex-vented softly, just barely audible. Megatron stirred slightly, and he froze. He suddenly didn't want to be here, didn't want to see those red optics open and be angry, or accusing.

Optimus slowly extricated himself from the heavy arm that was loosely surrounding him. The high density foam of the berth was yielding yet firm, with a smooth covering that muffled vibration and sound. He was glad of that, because it made sneaking out much easier. He felt an almost physical pang when he left his Decepticon's EM fields, but decided to ignore it. He padded to the door, using the stealthy movement style Prowl had taught him during their training sessions back on Earth.

Shooting a last glance at his erstwhile berthmate, he saw a frown cross Megatron's faceplates. The mech tossed restlessly, one heavy, clawed servo landing on the empty space beside him.

Optimus ex-vented again, very quietly. His presence was obviously disturbing the elder mech's rest, and even in recharge, he was unhappy about it. That was typical, after all, and Optimus needed to get used to it.

*****

_To anyone who is wondering, yes, Megatron is totally frowning in his sleep because Optimus isn't near him anymore. You may squee now, should you feel the need._

__

_(Thunderblast is the Decepticon James Bond, by the way.)_


	16. Sightseeing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that took a while.
> 
> Every time I opened this chapter to edit it, I found myself staring blankly at it, brain on idle. Come to think of it, that happened with other things, too. I think I need a vacation.

*****

Megatron woke easily and stretched luxuriously in the wide berth. The sun's light was streaming in the windows and warming his plating. He was well fueled and rested, his wounds repaired. He felt good this sol. He was alone in the room, and decided that the best policy was to avoid peering too deeply into his feelings about that. It was undoubtedly for the best. Certainly not disappointing. At all.

Something was bothering his neck cabling, so he reached up to scratch…and encountered the collar.

That brought him back to reality in a hurry. Unicron  _ smelt _ them all. How could he allow himself to succumb to comfort and complacency in such circumstances? A wave of shame and self-disgusted anger flooded his mind. He would be slagged if he allowed himself to be made into a pet, happy for his master's attention.

No. Impotent rage was no better than foolish contentment.

He was Megatron, the Terror of Kaon, the scourge of the elite, the leader of the Decepticons. He must not allow himself to be domesticated by some Academy washout with a gentle touch and a penchant for cuddling. All of Diamondsinger's cruelty had not broken him, he would not surrender to the little Prime's kindness.

Though…perhaps he could turn the other mech's softer instincts to his advantage. There was nothing wrong with using his master's weaknesses to manage him, after all. He just had to avoid letting himself be lulled into a false sense of security, or to allow his instincts to make him feel genuine loyalty to his Autobot master. He must never forget that they were on opposite sides of the war.

Megatron realized that he was absently clawing at the collar, and made himself stop. An EMP burst to his helm was not something he needed right now. If he triggered the defense mechanism designed to keep him from removing the cursed thing, he would probably wind up a twitching pile of metal on the floor. Probably for hours. The Autobot security techs didn't fool around.

He forced himself to get up and face the sol. No reason to sit here wallowing, just because he was wearing a slave collar and had let his master cuddle him. Things could be much, much worse, after all.

*****

The small red mech looked across the table at his compatriot, his faceplates set in a grave expression.

"You're sure?" He asked the blue and white Autobot. The other was, as usual, painstakingly well polished, his paint bright and his armor shiny. The winged sigil on his chest was crisply delineated against the background color. Really, he was about the opposite of what most bots outside the business would expect of a spy who specialized in stealth operations.

He was good at what he did, though.

The mech nodded. "Yes sir. At first I thought he was just another clone, but either it's the galaxy's best fake, or it's him. Which is impossible, of course."

Cliffjumper scowled. "Apparently not. Optimus's team must have made a mistake, and that winged fragger must have been only  _ mostly _ offline." Both helms turned towards the projection screen. The image thereon was unmistakable, right down to the arrogant smirk. The source of that smirk still being online and loose in the universe was a giant pain in all their afts, and dangerous to boot.

"Fraggit." Mirage said feelingly. "I'd take a squad of regular Decepticons over one Starscream any sol. Especially if he's powered by Allspark shards. Those fraggers are nigh unkillable, from what I've heard."

"Have you found his base of operations?" asked the red mech. His informant shook his head, looking doleful. "No sir." He answered. "It should be easy, but the native lifeforms use a huge amount of power, and a lot of different types of communications. Plus he can hide among those drones they use. He's found the perfect planet to hide on."

Unsaid was the fact that Mirage had little background in dealing with alien worlds. It was not his specialty, to put it mildly. He was a mech who went unseen among other mecha, not a xeno specialist. On a mission requiring stealth and a thorough understanding of Cybertronian political infighting, he was a terrific operative.

Unfortunately the backwater planet where Starscream had been spotted required an entirely different skill set. They needed a specialist in organics and/or a subject matter expert for Earth. Since Longarm's betrayal had come to light, the Intelligence Division was short on trustworthy field operatives, and this was important. That slagging seeker could rally the Decepticons around him, given a chance. If they didn't find a way to stop him.

Cliffjumper irritably rubbed at a sensor horn. Using the correct tool for the job was a vital part of being the head of Autobot Intelligence. Mirage was unquestionably the wrong tool in this situation, but the problem was, he didn't  _ have _ the right tool. He needed some mechs who knew Earth, knew Decepticons, and ideally, had encountered Starscream before.

If only he had mechs with that kind of experience…

Wait a klick. He might not have them in his division, but it wasn't like they didn't exist. He just needed access to them. And as fortune would have it, there was a completely qualified Prime in the city  _ right now _ who was sidelined for political reasons. He might need to pull some cables to get Optimus and his team, but Cliffjumper knew where enough of the offlined shells were buried to make it happen.

*****

The Decepticon general bowed her helm over the report. An entire team of cryptologists had hacked the information that Thunderblast had liberated from the stronghold of the accursed Autobots. It had been overkill, as the records had little more protection than was usually given to medical information (either their enemies had grown careless, or they wanted her mecha to know) but there had been many volunteers. She had not the spark to turn down any of the Ops personnel who asked to help.

The news was not good.

Her leader, the Great Megatron, the Liberator of the War Built Cybertronians, was trapped.

She and her advisors had hoped and prayed to Primus that their lord's keeper was a poor match. She would have seen to it that the Autobot's spark was snuffed out before he could do their beloved leader any further harm. Rumor and intel suggested that he was an honorable mech, so it would have been a clean, merciful kill.

But this…It was very nearly the worst possible news.

The Prime had been chosen as much for spark compatibility as for any other trait, and the two of them were such a match that assassinating the mech was a terrible option. Besides that, to make matters even worse, he had defeated Lord Megatron in combat shortly before their forced bonding. That would have primed their leader’s coding to accept his new master. The butchering of his programming would have been easy for the filthy lackeys of the Autobot High Council.

Strika fought back a keen.

Just because their easiest option was gone, did not mean that they were beaten. She had her orders, to take command and carry on the fight. All was not lost. There were still options, and perhaps this Autobot Prime could be turned to their side. Spark compatibility had always been a double edged sword for mecha who dabbled in slaving, after all. Or, he could be taken and imprisoned somewhere his voice could never reach Lord Megatron.

The reports indicated that the Prime had protested the bond, had not wanted to take their lord as a slave. Hopefully that was true. She would prefer that her beloved Leader's captor was a good mech, if they could not free him without the risk of damaging him beyond repair.

There was a polite ping to her comm. frequency, and she sent a command to open the door to her office. The lithe form of the Decepticon she had summoned stepped through the portal.

A strange one, this. But she had an intimate knowledge of the Autobots and had gone to their Academy in Iacon, even. And such converts were always unwavering in their hatred of those who had spurned them. Besides, this particular femme was nearly invisible to most security sensors, her organic side as good as any stealth technology for infiltrating automated guards.

"Blackarachnia. You are ready for your mission?" Strika asked.

**** *

Optimus decided that the two of them had been cooped up for too long. He was starting to really miss having a job to do. At least as part of a space bridge repair crew, he had something to occupy himself. Having "learn to coexist with Megatron" as a goal was all well and good, but he wanted to do something with some kind of visible results. Or at least a change of scene.

Too bad they couldn't just grab Omega and bridge back to Earth for some therapeutic time spent repairing things. That would be so much more relaxing than his current circumstances. Given that they needed to stay on Cyberton for the moment, a field trip was definitely in order. 

Where to go? He liked visiting with his team onboard Omega Supreme, but he wasn't really in the mood for the inevitable drama, and he wanted to do something that Megatron would enjoy as well. That ruled out Autobot headquarters and the Citadel, so he'd have to think of something else.

Of course! The Iacon Museum of holography! It was a somewhat old-fashioned art form, but he had always loved it. There was a library, too. Plus it was always peaceful, and there were lots of researchers and scholars and the occasional loafing student there. The paparazzi would never suspect it as a destination. The two of them might need a diversion or something, though.

Megatron had woken up this cycle with approximately the temperament of a bear roused from hibernation in the middle of a blizzard, so keeping him away from the civilian population was definitely the way to go. Odd, he was acting almost…offended.

Optimus put a quick call in to Ratchet. Omega was going to do a nice, easy shakedown flight to test his repairs and stretch his thrusters. It would make a good distraction for mecha who might be watching the skies. Optimus and Megatron could use the larger mech’s launch for cover. No one was going to notice a couple of extra mech sized fliers if a Supreme was going past.

Omega was enthusiastic about the idea. They were going to take a jaunt out to a landing pad up in the Hexalite mountains to the north of the city. It would be a nice change of scene, and give Sari, Bee and Bulkhead a chance to see other parts of Cybertron. Bulkhead and Sari had never been anywhere on the planet except Greater Iacon, since Bulkhead had spent his younger sols on an energon farm on one of their world's moons, and Sari was an alien. Well, more or less. Arcee was apparently from the mountains, and waxed enthusiastic about the area's beauty.

Smiling to himself, Optimus went to find his Decepticon Warlord.

Megatron was in the sitting room, a datapad in hand. His armor gleamed like a finely forged blade. Optimus leaned against the doorframe, body language deliberately casual. "I thought we might take a flight today." He said.

The craggy head rose, scarlet optics focusing on him. Megatron didn't smile, but he didn't look displeased, either. "Are we going to your headquarters?" he inquired. "Perhaps another sparring session? Or have they finally called you back into active duty?"

If only. Optimus shook his head. "No, and I have a different destination in mind at the moment. I haven't been there since I was in the Academy."

*****

They escaped the building with a minimum of fuss, soaring easily over the city while the populace was distracted. A few cameras probably caught them on their way up and out, but nowhere near the storm of attention that they had encountered on other occasions.

The museum seemed a bit smaller and shabbier than he remembered, but it was still lovely and peaceful. Optimus immediately set out for the entrance. He started into the building, only to realize that Megatron wasn't following. He stopped and looked at the big mech questioningly. "Is something wrong?" He asked.

The Decepicon shook his helm. "I- no." He said. "This place seems familiar. I have never been to a holography museum here in Iacon, however." He was frowning as he looked around. "Of course, the city has changed a very great deal since I was here last."

"This was one of my favorite places to visit, back when I was in the Academy." Optimus said, taking one of Megatron's arms to tow him towards the front desk. "It's got all sorts of lovely art work, and a lot of historical artifacts, too. Of course, at the time I liked it as much because the courtyards were such peaceful places to spend time studying. My suitemates tended to be on the loud side." He was aware that his voice had taken on an excited lilt, and made an effort to quash it. No need to seem like a total nerd in front of the Decepticon commander, after all. Even if they were recharging together these sols.

They approached the reception desk, and Optimus purchased two passes. There were a couple of bots there, though one was more than enough for the job. Probably volunteers. This museum was a pretty minor one, and didn't have a lot of funds or staff. One of them was a tall, sleek femme with a look and paint job that were either really convincingly retro, or genuinely antique. She looked up when they entered, and her optics went perfectly round in shock. The other was a weathered, early model mech who looked alarmed, then furiously angry when his optics lighted on Megatron.

Optimus ignored the reactions. His official personal policy was to act like having a giant, glowering Decepticon war machine following him around was perfectly normal. It wasn't as if every mech on Cybertron (and probably all of the colonies and moon bases) didn't know about the arrangement, after all.

He led the way towards his favorite part of the museum, the courtyard. As much as he missed Earth, there were wonderful things about being back on Cybertron. Fitting in all the buildings, for instance. This one was old, and the doorways easily accommodated Megatron, which was also nice. Come to think of it, all the city's older buildings seemed to have been designed with larger frame types in mind.

He made a mental note to look that up.

*****

Megatron allowed the smaller mech to tow him into the slightly shabby edifice without protest. Obviously his Prime had been getting truly stir crazy, if he found this place so exciting. He didn't even seem to notice that he had hold of Megatron's arm.

So far, there had been a few nice pieces, in the entry chambers and hallway, but nothing extraordinary… Then they entered a brighter, less confined space, and he caught his venting. What an unexpectedly pleasant surprise. It was a lovely sun filled courtyard, bordered by elegant, columned porches shading comfortable looking seats, both benches and chairs with small tables. There was a central sculpture depicting a group of beings fighting. They were obviously stylized, but still recognizable.

It was a scene that used to appear regularly in popular art and the finer works as well, though it seemed to have been mostly forgotten among the Autobots of today, displaced in favor of works showing Ultra Magnus or others of his ilk fighting Decepticons. It was Prima doing battle with a trio of Quintessons (who were out of scale. The Quints' power came from their slaves and pets, not their physical prowess) and obviously winning.

The bright coppery color seemed more luminous than Megatron would have expected, until he realized that the piece was also a fountain. It was continuously coated by a sheen of liquid that pooled in a square basin beneath the sculpted scene. Surrounding it was a small but obviously meticulously tended patch of delicately striated metalolilies, a plant that he had assumed long extinct.

What a lovely place. He shot a sideways look at his Prime. The younger mech was smiling and relaxed.

"I think the courtyard as a whole is a piece of artwork", the tricolored mech said, his voice soft. "It's got such harmony, don't you think? Plus, the statue is amazing. It's supposed to be of Prima, but of course no one knows what he actually looked like. That's how I always picture him now, though."

Megatron approached the statue in its reflecting pool, circling it to see the warrior mech's face. Recognition hit him like a blow to the hydraulics. "Steelstong would have been happy to have one of his code-descendents associate him with such an illustrious figure." He said, still staring up at the unexpectedly familiar features.

Big blue optics looked at him in puzzlement. "Who?" Asked the young Autobot. "You… knew the model for the statue?"

Megatron's lips quirked in a small smile. "Oh yes." He said, reaching out to gently touch a sculpted servo, forever clenched around the hilt of a long, straight blade. "Steelstrong was a general in the last war against the Quintessons. I served under him in several campaigns. He was a brave, talented commander and an excellent leader. We all thought very highly of him."

"What happened to him?" his Prime asked, optics wide and fascinated.

"He died honorably in combat." Megatron answered quietly. "I am glad that he did not see what became of his comrades in arms after the wars were over and Cybertron's greatest foes were vanquished. Though, it is quite possible that with him as our leader in the times that followed, things might have been…different."

*****

Optimus was fascinated by Megatron's reaction to the sculpture, with its portrait of a long offline commander. He had always associated Megatron with historical events, but for some reason he had never really thought too much about conflicts prior to the Great War with the Decepticons. Lately, he had been researching the social and legal framework directly before Megatron's original uprising, but that had been mostly centered around the use of slave coding.

"I know you served against the Quintessons," he said. "But what did you do afterward?"

"Hmmmm?" Megatron said, still studying the sculpture. "I attempted a civilian life, for a time. It didn't go well."

"What do you mean?" Optimus asked. He didn't want to be pushy or infringe on Megatron's privacy, but this was fascinating. It wasn't every day that you got an eyewitness account of major historical events. Especially if the most senior mechs you knew never talked about the things they had seen. Not that he blamed Ratchet, as he had obviously had a difficult existence, but he was always curious about this sort of thing…

Scarlet optics glanced at him. "I had civilian occupation for a time, then found myself immersed in what you might call political activism. We very foolishly thought that there was some possibility of reform from within. I was a naïve little fool back then."

Optimus attempted to picture Megatron in a civilian occupation, and came up completely blank. He had to ask; "What kind of job?"

Gray lips smiled a little, though there was a touch of bitterness in the expression. "Construction, then mining. It became less and less possible to live and work as a military build, and I found myself back in the military, and dabbling in politics and a growing protest movement. Eventually, it became a hotbed of political dissent. Unfortunately, the rulers of the day found us and our methods…objectionable."

"Is that when you started the rebellion?" asked Optimus.

"Hm? No, that did not happen until later, truthfully. It was a long, slow descent into the chaos that later became armed revolt. First I was imprisoned for disruption of the peace and rabble rousing. The council and the Magnus of the time considered the war builds and our allies a threat, and treated us as such." The gray mech answered. He turned his face up towards the bright light streaming down from above. "We were denied the opportunity to meet, to speak to those in power. Eventually they began using the Slave Coding. We suffered. Then we made war."

Those words were said in such a flat, matter of fact tone that Optimus almost missed their true meaning. He shuddered. The Great War that had devastated their world and its population, and which persisted even today. In this serene setting, watching the big Decepticon practically bask in the solar warmth, it almost seemed like a foreign concept, not a death and energon struggle they were still engaged in.

"There must have been another way, besides that." He said quietly. "We're all Cybertronians, and our sparks are from the same source."

Megatron looked down at him. "We had little choice, if we wanted to be free." He said. "As I said, things might have been different, if the Magnus or the Council had been better, nobler. Or if Steelstrong had been there to lead us."

Optimus heard the soft scuff of stabilizing servos approaching them across the flagstones of the courtyard, but it was just one of the museum volunteers. He started to return his attention to his Decepticon, when he felt a charge in the air. Something…wasn't right…

"What would have made a real difference is some Bot doing the Universe a favor and ending your miserable existence, you murdering scum!" Screamed the antique-looking mech from the front desk. He had a gun in his arms, something ornate that looked at least as old as he was.

Then he opened fire. Both of them sprang away from the target area, reflexes honed in battle letting them take evasive action before higher functions even registered. Optimus hit the ground and rolled, and Megatron dodged and sprang into the air. Was this one of those assassination attempts that everyone had been fretting about?

Wait, the mech wasn't focused on him at all. He was trying to offline Megatron, not Optimus.

"Monster! You killed them all! My squad, and you and your filthy con war machines tore them apart!" shrieked the mech from the desk as he brought the massive (it was far too large and heavy for his frame) weapon around to follow Megatron's dodging. "But now I'll finally see justice for Bolts and ZoomZoom and Wrench!"

Optimus wasn't going to let some crazy senior citizen with a gun stolen from an exhibit offline his charge anytime in this functioning. He threw himself at the would-be assassin, who continued to shriek epithets at Megatron as the weapon recharged. The warlord probably would have ground him into paste already under normal circumstances, but unarmed and unsure just how much violence his code would allow, the Decepticon was wisely taking evasive action.

The bot fought him, but Optimus was larger, stronger ( _ he _ wasn't an antique, after all) and had recent combat experience. He managed to wrestle the weapon away, and trussed the other Autobot up with his grappler cables.

The mech shrieked, struggling futilely. "No! He killed my friends! They were only newbies! None of us had even seen combat yet, and they just rolled over us! The council should have offlined him when you captured him, not let him wander free among decent Autobots! Let me go and I can finally end this!" He looked like he was going to wrench his own joints out of their sockets, he was fighting the bonds so hard.

Optimus grabbed him and hauled him away from the discarded weapon. It was smoking in a worrying manner. Who knew when it had last received maintenance. He could hear running pede-falls, probably the Autotroopers, or whatever passed for security here. Hopefully not more volunteers with traumatically violent pasts. He spared a glance at his Decepticon, and saw that while Megatron had obviously been hit, he didn't appear to have taken any serious damage. His armor had undoubtedly been upgraded a lot since whatever antique this fool had found to use in his assassination attempt had been built. He was just standing there, staring at his would-be extinguisher.

The bot sagged in his bonds, almost seeming to crumple in on himself. Oily tears began welling from the old mech's optics, and Optimus simply didn't know what to do. It was spark wrenching to witness another's despair like this. This mech had just tried to kill his…Megatron, but it wasn't like he himself hadn't nearly done the same thing only a short time ago.

Of course, the Decepticon had been actively trying to offline him at the time, not quietly discussing history in a garden. He wasn't going to let some random bot murder him, past deeds or no.

"I'm very sorry for your loss." Optimus said quietly. "But I cannot let you murder him. He's a prisoner of war, and my responsibility. Besides which, gunning down a mech in cold hydraulics is never the answer. I'm going to call the police, and they're going to take you down to the local station…"

"No." Rumbled Megatron. "It was an honest attempt on my life, with a perfectly reasonable motive. It is futile to engage the so-called Autobot justice system in this. This mech failed in his purpose, and owes me a debt." He hesitated slightly. "Or in some viewpoints, he owes you one. If he refrains from further attempts, I see no reason to pursue punishment."

He crouched down, bringing himself almost optic level with Optimus’s prisoner. "I sympathize with your loss, but it was war, and mechs die in wars. I bore your friends no personal animus, and you must let go of yours. It is futile now, as I am caught by your faction, when I would have preferred offlining."

The old mech stared up at him. "Th…That's not a sentiment Id'a expected from a Con like you." He rasped.

That bitter, lip component quirking smile was back. "I am not surprised. To you and your kind, we are nothing but tools for waring, turned against the servos that wielded us." Megatron said. "Master, it is time to go. I suggest we disable this weapon first, before someone is damaged with it."

*****

_ The courtyard in this chapter is totally based on the one at the main branch of the Boston Public Library. I totally recommend stopping in if you're ever in town. Er, the statue is a dancing Maenad with a baby and a bunch of grapes, not Prima fighting Quintessons though.^_^. _


	17. Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I got a question about what Ultra Magnus was doing during Megatron's first enslavement and the subsequent Decepticon Uprising. He wasn't the Magnus yet. His rank was something like a lieutenant, and he was a loyal soldier troubled by what was happening to his former comrades, but he didn't join the rebellion.

_ ***** _

Megatron's attacker had been taken into Autotrooper custody awaiting a hearing, which Megatron had declined to participate in. Irritatingly enough, he was being incessantly questioned on his reasons. First, the surprisingly nice young mech in charge of the Autotrooper unit, and now this.

"Are you  _ sure  _ that you don't want to press charges?" his Prime asked. Again. "If you don't, they're going to let him off with just a fine for swiping that weapon from the archives and firing it in a public place"

Megatron sighed. Frag, he was actually going to have to explain himself, or the Autobot would never stop nagging.

"In truth, I did not mind very much" said Megatron. "It was not treachery, only an attempt at honest combat. He tried to end my life stream with the best means at his disposal. It felt…almost normal, compared to my experiences of late. Something I could avoid, or fight." 

"Sometimes having a nice straightforward battle just seems easier, even if you get hurt." Optimus agreed. "But that's not all, is it?"

Megatron glanced at the smaller mech in surprise. Obviously his Prime had more hidden depths than he had originally thought. Perhaps the naïveté was an act? He studied the big blue optics and gentle expression. Probably not. That didn't make the younger mech a fool, though.

"You have been studying the laws from the time of slavery." He said. It wasn't a question. The Prime hadn't exactly been subtle about hitting the net for information.

"The…yes. Yes I have. I didn't want to encounter any more nasty surprises that I could avoid." Answered the Autobot.

"You are aware that enslaved mecha do not have all of the rights and privileges normally accorded to sentient, sapient beings?"

"Well…yes. But what does that have to do with not pressing charges? That mech tried to murder you in cold energon!"

Megatron sighed again. His Autobot wasn't getting it. "By the ancient laws, you could sue him for property damage. Nothing more. He did not attack a mech, a free Cybertonian, he attacked your personal property. If this accursed code is used on others, I want modern legal precedent established when the accuser is some sweet looking young jetbot or Autobot soldier, not the Slagmaker himself. I am  _ not _ going to be a sympathetic figure to any legal body in this system. I want your court systems to decide that the old laws are hopelessly antiquated and barbaric, and ignore the precedents from back then."

"But…" the Prime began.

Megatron frowned at him. "Yes, all this assumes that other mecha will have the slave coding used on them. Probably Autobots. I will admit that I have an undoubtedly futile hope that your Council has not become so mad with corruption, but I am not counting on it, and I have always been a great believer in planning ahead. If I am the one attempting to charge a free mech with assaulting me, your judicial system will most likely simply look up the old laws and apply them. If it is someone more sympathetic, like a nice young jetbot from the Elite Guard, there would be enough political fallout amongst the general population to force some changes."

His Prime stared at him, horror written all across his faceplates. Those lush lips were parted, the optics wide. Apparently this had never occurred to him. That was strangely adorable…

…His Autobot Master was  _ not _ adorable.

"They are _ not _ going to use that code on Jetfire and Jetstorm!"  The Prime exclaimed. "They're loyal Autobots! The populace would never stand for it. The  _ Elite Guard _ would never stand for it! I know you think our entire government is evil and corrupt, but you're wrong about this!"

"Perhaps, Little Prime." Megatron said. "Nevertheless, I do not wish to take that risk with the potential futures of other enslaved mechs. Not all of them will be lucky in their masters."

*****

Sari dreamed of wings. Again.

Metal wings and ice, and cold. Something trapped and still that should be alive and moving and vibrant.

There was something lost, that needed to be found, and two transformers that needed to be reunited.

More wings, a flock of them, swirling down together, like one being with many bodies. One of the flying mecha pulled away from the group, to greet a large green form…

There was also a big gold room with arches and carvings and lots and lots of mechs with blue swirls all over them.

Her eyes opened, and from the quality of the light, she could tell they were glowing. It was weird to have her own face be a light source like that. She growled, and thunked her…helm against the wall. "For cryin out loud." She said to the empty air. "Ratchet told me he'd take me to the Allspark Temple in a couple of days. We're on vacation right now. Kind of. Can't you  _ wait _ ?"

This cryptic slag was getting way past old. What she needed in the meantime was a ninjabot. Fortunately, she knew just where to find one. As soon as they got back to the city, she was going to go grab Jazz and get him to make with the wisdom-y stuff. She wished Prowl was here. He was good at this kind of thing, and she missed him.

*****

He really shouldn't enjoy being fussed over and pampered by his Autobot master, especially over such pathetically minor injuries. On the other servo, practically any mech would like having someone like the Prime gently smoothing polish into his armor. Besides, it was practically a ritual for them at this point. Megatron was stretched out on his front, with his Prime working on the overlapping plating of his back and shoulders.

As near as he could tell, the Autobot found it soothing to detail him. The mech seemed to like having something to do with his servos, so buffing Megatron to a glossy finish was…relaxing for him. Or something. Whatever. He was hardly going to complain about it, given that it had become blindingly obvious that this particular Autobot was no threat to anyone not attacking him or his companions. 

If he ever won free of his slave coding, Megatron would have to find a way to keep the mech around. He was a decent fighter, too. Especially for a member of his weakling faction. He had taken out that erstwhile would-be assassin and barely gotten scuffed.

The Prime ex-vented softly. "Well, today could have gone better." He said ruefully.

Megatron cracked open an optic and craned his neck around to check the younger mech's expression. "True." He agreed. "But it also could have been much, much worse." His Prime was feeling guilty and responsible, obviously. "I have a request." Megatron murmured. "It appears that situations like today may be somewhat common in the future, and while this was a merely a minor inconvenience, it could have been far more serious. The attacker could have been more competent, or more powerful. There could have been several. Having my weapons restored to me would be highly beneficial in such a case.”

The servos went still on his plating. There was a long silence in the quiet room.

"I, I'll…think about it, Megatron." The mech said finally.

The Prime was quiet for the rest of the sol, and Megatron didn't push. Anxious as he was to get weapons back (he felt like he was missing integral parts, without them) he didn't want to seem too eager. No need to make the Autobot wonder what he planned to do once he was properly armed again.

That night, he didn't fuss when his master curled up beside him on the berth. He simply stretched out on the soft surface, studying the younger mech as he recharged. A pretty thing, and wise for his age. He was teachable, but Megatron would have to be extremely subtle about it. Not what he would have expected at all, when he first encountered the Prime.

Nevertheless, he would find a way to win in the end. He had prevailed in far worse conditions, after all.

*****

Blackarachnia swung into the window, a darker shape against the sky, where the lights of Iacon reflected on the low hanging clouds. She landed silently, her half-organic systems allowing her to move far more quietly than any normal Cybertronian.

She had come reluctantly, on General Strika's orders. Besides the risk, being back in this city brought back memories she would rather avoid, if possible.

Speaking of memories…she spotted a holo in a frame that was hung on the wall of the empty berthroom she was in. It was a familiar image, given that she had a copy herself. Probably she should have erased it long ago, but nostalgia was one of her weaknesses. She didn't want to forget that she had been a real Cybertronian once, before she gained her current monstrous form.

It was a picture of three young Academy trainees, bright and shiny with new Autobot brands. They had their arms around each other's shoulders, smiling and happy. She kind of wanted to slap some sense into the three of them.

Too late for that now, of course. She resisted the urge to bash the picture-Sentinel's face in. Now was no time for petty histrionics. She had a job to do, and needed to do it and get the frag off planet before she was captured and dissected in some laboratory pit-hole somewhere.

Now, where were the occupants of this (very nice) apartment? From the few personal objects scattered about, she would have expected this to be Optimus's room. Here he wasn't, though.

Strika and the others had worried (aloud, and at great length) about Optimus taking advantage of having a mech slave-bound to him, but she honestly couldn't picture that goody-two-pedes doing any such thing. Sentinel, maybe, but Optimus? Not likely. Of course, it wouldn't be the first time one of her former companions had seriously surprised and disappointed her.

She mentally pictured Optimus and Megatron in a berth together. That was actually…kind of hot. Still, if someone was going to be the aggressor in that dynamic, she had a really hard time believing that it would be Optimus.

Obviously, she would have to go and see for herself. She decided to travel along the ceiling in her altmode, to better avoid detection from any security systems that might notice a strange biped. A quick search of the apartment's common rooms showed no occupants, which left…the master berthroom.

They hadn't even bothered to close the door, so she peaked in from her ceiling vantage point. There was Megatron, lounging on the berth like he owned the place, one arm behind his helm while the other servo held a softly glowing datapad. He was smirking. He also looked shiny and well maintained. How typical. His mechs were tying their processors into knots with anxiety over him and he looked like he had just come from a nice spa and was letting his polish set.

But where was Optimus?

She shifted a bit, and with the different angle, she could see that her former teammate was actually occupying the other side of the berth, curled up by Megaton's side like…like some kind of pet or something. Asleep, with the leader of the fragging Decepticons in his berth! She wasn't sure if she should be applauding his initiative or storming over and punching him in the faceplates. Or staging an intervention! What on Cybertron could that idiot be thinking!

Well, she supposed it was _possible_ that he was taking advantage of Megatron… She looked at the expression and body language of the warlord in question… she really kind of doubted it. 

Well, she did have a job to do, and it would probably let her find out what the frag was going on with Optimus and Megatron, so she might as well get to it. She nudged the door, making it swing gently open the rest of the way.

*****

A disturbed air current was what first alerted Megatron to the fact that they weren't alone.

Another assassination attempt? That was fast. Of course, he might not be the target this time. So much for the vaunted security in this building. He wished he had his cannon, or at least his swords. This state of being unarmed was profoundly unnatural and inconvenient.

Someone was at the door. He feigned nonchalance…and suddenly sprang at the intruder in the doorway, claws extended. Nothing…no. The attacker was above! He threw himself sideways, but not soon enough to avoid a shot of…webbing? His arm was stuck to the doorframe. Frag it, this wouldn't be a problem if he only had his fusion cannon!

He was vaguely aware that his Prime had just jerked awake and rolled out of the berth, grabbing his axe from subspace, when something whistled past, and the mech made an odd sound. He jerked his head around and saw a strange dart protruding from silvery neck cables. And the young Autobot was staring at the ceiling, which was occupied by a giant spider.

"Elita?" he said softly. "What are you…" then, the Prime crumpled to the floor.

Megatron snarled, tearing at the webbing with his claws.

"Lord Megatron!' it said. "I'm here to speak to you! On General Strika's orders!" This last was said as Megatron got loose from the web and wheeled to find his target.

The spider dropped to the floor, unfolding into a female shape as it went. Megatron checked his lunge, recognizing a familiar (and somewhat creepy, particularly in the low light) set of multiple scarlet optics. Also a Decepticon symbol. Mustn't forget the important things.

"What did you do to the Prime?" he demanded. Definitely not dead, or in any particular distress, but out cold. He knew what Blackarachnia's venom could do, when she really put her mind to it, so this could still be an attempt to assassinate one or both of them. For all he knew, Starscream had survived Earth and they were allied.

The spider looked faintly surprised. "Optimus is just knocked out. I can't very conduct a debriefing for Decepticon command with a Prime listening in." She said, crossing her mechanoid arms and affecting a nonchalant posture. "Orders. And besides, he's not such a bad sort, for an Autobot."

Megatron narrowed his optics. "Just how much did you give him?'

The spider femme shrugged. She was looking amused, frag her. "Enough to overcome his partial immunity." She said. "He encountered it enough times back on Earth that he'll probably shake it off faster than normal, too." She smirked at him. "You sound concerned, oh mighty Megatron. Worried that your pet will be damaged?"

He growled. Impertinent femme. Why were none of his scientists properly deferential? First Starscream, and now this. Perhaps it was somehow contagious. "I have plans for the Prime." He said coolly. "He recognized you, called you another name. You were a Prime-tracked Autobot before you joined us. Do you perhaps have something to  _ share _ ?"

Ah. Judging from the spider-femme's expression, there was something to that. He decided to get it out of his Prime later, though. Contact with his Decepticons was more important right now than prurient curiosity. 

Megatron hauled the limp body of the Autobot off the floor and deposited him on the berth. His plating was warm and the colors bright and saturated, so hopefully he would be fine. He removed the dart, careful to avoid the poisoned tip.  Then he subspaced it. It wasn’t much of a weapon by his normal standards, but at this point, it was better than nothing.

"You said Strika sent you." Megatron prompted. He wanted to know how his Decepticons fared, not engage in idle banter. "They need to prioritize retrieving Shockwave, Lugnut and the others, before they wind up in my situation. Is Strika's power base secure?"

Dark purple shoulders shrugged. "From what I can see, they're just carrying on like they did while you were missing after you crashed on Earth. Strika has things under control. She'd like you back, not to mention Lugnut and the others. They're missing a lot of senior mecha at the moment, and the troops seem kind of demoralized and angry that they're not attacking Cybertron and razing this city to the ground to get you back."

The spider femme leaned against the wall, studying him with a somewhat disturbing analytical intensity. "Which leads me to the question, why aren't they working on slagging Optimus and cutting that collar off your neck, instead of all this sneaking around? Mecha kept muttering about you ending up like Starscream, but I basically fail to see how that's a possibility. Unless killing your master would turn you into a screechy seeker with chronic backstabbing syndrome."

Megatron sighed. He appreciated that his generals had wanted to make contact with him as quickly as they could, but someone really should have explained the facts of life to the messenger. Blackarachnia was a scientist, and therefore naturally curious. That, and she didn't have the galaxy's greatest respect for authority. It was probably more efficient to simply explain things. Besides, being a former Autobot, she was much too young to remember any of this with first-hand knowledge. In fact, she was probably the same age as his little Prime.

"Starscream was one of my earliest followers". He said. "He was brilliant, loyal, a magnificent flier and leader of warriors. He commanded a seeker wing against the Quintessons, and after the war, he went to the science academy. Unfortunately, as prejudice against war builds mounted, his…less than diplomatic nature tended to get the better of him. He joined our movement, and was politically active in our quest for equal status in the civilian government. Eventually, he became a bit too troublesome for the Council of the time to tolerate. Like me, he was arrested on trumped-up charges and made a slave."

He paced a little. It was hard to keep still, on this dark sol where so many things had come full circle. "Unlike mine, his master was not cruel. Instead of a twisted sadist with little to recommend him but political connections, Starscream's chosen master was another scientist. He was a flier too, but not a warrior. His name was Skyfire. I am given to understand that he sought to be Starscream's master in order to protect him. They were…very close.”

“When many of us were suffering at the hands of the mechs who owned us, Starscream developed a strong and affectionate bond with his master. Unlike most of us, they were aware of each other's emotional states, and as time passed, they could even communicate over the bond. For the two of them, it was something much closer to a True Sparkbond than a slave bond. I experienced no such thing with my own master. At most, I had a vague awareness of his moods, nothing more. I am forever grateful for that fact. He was a truly evil mech."

"What happened?"

"War happened. Those of us not bound with slave coding rose up, fought the military mechs and Guardbots who stayed loyal to the old Magnus and the Council. Then they started systematically killing any mech who was the master of another. I laughed in joy the day I regained my freedom. Starscream…not so much. Skyfire was shot down over an alien world, and Starscream went to pieces. He wasn't the only one. There were a small number of other enslaved war builds who also reacted badly to their masters' deaths. Eventually he seemed to recover his faculties, but he was never the same again. It was like Skyfire's death stripped the loyalty out of him. Instead of my brilliant and loyal second, he was a scheming, unstable being, almost a parody of his former self.”

“He was very angry, too. I think on some level he blamed me for his loss. He became less and less stable as time progressed."

"Did you kill Skyfire?" asked Blackarachnia. Her voice was quiet, with none of its usual bitter sarcasm.

"No, but I put the circumstances in place for his death. When my old master was killed, I became the leader of the rebellion again. We used the new technology of transformation to hide in plain sight, to assassinate the rest of the masters, and every single council member that supported using the slave codes."

"I…never knew any of this, back when I was an Autobot." Blackarachnia said softly. She drifted over to the berth, her slender fingers reaching out to touch the Prime's bright armor. "Optimus is more like Skyfire than your master, then."

"Yes, but there is more to it than a master with a compassionate nature. It is a matter of spark resonance. Ours is a close match, and we are compatible on the level of our sparks. There were others who were fond of their masters who did not react like Starscream. The Prime was chosen as my master because our sparks are literally on the same wavelength, or close enough to it. I do not wish to spiral slowly into madness if he is offlined, and at present, my current situation is better than death."

"That was one of General Strika's questions for you. If you wanted them to offline him, and take the risk. Or both of you. That was an option too." The spider femme said soberly. "The general asked for instructions, and also offered to try to abduct you both, and lock Optimus away somewhere."

Megatron closed his optics for a moment. "No. I would still be compromised. I cannot lead the Decepticons if I have an unequal spark bond directing my actions. And orders he has already given me will not become invalid just because he is not there to reinforce them. I would be a danger to those around me were I to rejoin my troops in my current state. Strika is in command. She will lead the Decepticons now. Tell her to carry on the fight. And to prioritize getting Shockwave, Lugnut and the others free."

"So there's…nothing we can do?" Asked the spider. 

Megatron's mouthplates quirked a bit in a wicked little smile. "At the moment, there is little any outside force can do for me. However, that does not render me totally unable to influence events. I have learned a few things over the course of my existence, and I have been in far worse situations than this in my time."

There was a tiny movement from the berth. The Prime would likely regain consciousness soon. "Go." Megatron said. "And tell my General to remember how the poets and musicians of the canyon quarter used to communicate undetected."

"Yes Sir, Lord Megatron." Blackarachnia said, drawing herself into a crisp salute that would have looked at home on any Prime in the Guard.

Then she was gone. After checking to see that the mech on the berth was still unconscious, Megatron poured himself a cube of highgrade and went out on the balcony to brood. He wasn't in the mood to recharge next to an Autobot right now.

Inside the room, one blue optic opened a tiny slit. Well, he thought.  _ That _ had been interesting.


End file.
